


We wish on the same stars.

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Future, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-20
Updated: 2007-04-17
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Post 513. Beginning a few months after the series ended.  The vote for Proposition 14 looms on the horizon, and everyone's lives continue weaving from where the series left off.





	1. Of Doubt.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes:

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill. Everything leading up to this is not mine. Characters, history, and memories belong to the creators of QAF. 

I have no idea how long this will be, so bear with me while I juggle Ficwriting, Work, and my social life. In that order. I don't know exactly what the preferred style of writing is around here, so I guess I'll just wing it.  


* * *

' _Ain't a love that's perfect  
_ _Everybody knows it_  
Ambition cuts us down' 

**Of Justin Taylor:**   
  
Justin stared at the blank canvas that stretched before him. He held a dry paintbrush loosely in his hand. His fingers twitched, as if he were itching to wet it with a dallop of paint and create a masterpiece of dark, intense and intimate colours, which he was. He could see the painting already, burnt onto the backs of his eyelids everytime he blinked. It had been like this ever since he'd moved to New York. Staring at the same blank canvas, hearing an echoing _tic tock_ in the back of his mind. He knew how Brian must have felt when Gus drew his first breath. The overwhelming feeling of being under a clock; having a constant reminder that the end was drawing nearer. Like your entire life ought to have been more, you ought to have rushed, accomplished and done more. He despised the feeling of having a dead line. It just reminded him that his life was passing, and while the days seemed long, and the weeks longer, it was all time he would never recover. He'd never experienced the need to force his creativity, and with his muse (Oh how he hated that word,) a world away from him, at _home_ it made things worse.   


  
His eyes darted from the virgin canvas to the silent telephone on the table beside him. He should charge it incase Brian phoned. Justin offered up a small, ruefull smile that the canvas didn't appreciate: He knew Brian wouldn't call him. And he wouldn't call Brian either. He didn't want confirmation that all of his fears were true. That Brian hadn't looked back, or missed a beat when he'd left. Justin rubbed the thick muscle at the base of his thumb. He hadn't even began painting and his hand was already starting to cramp and seize up. Pressing his palms hard against his eyes Justin saw pinpricks of white in the blackness. He drew a deep breath and slid off his stool. Grabbing the phone Justin dropped onto the couch, curling into a rather pathetic fetal position, feeling as if he was about to be swallowed by himself. Without his painting to create landscapes of his inner turmoil, he'd begun to feel like a pot of water that was boiling over. He'd always been able to turn to his painting before.   
  
He must have falled asleep, because the next thing he knew the phone was ringing from the floor beside him, and he was being yanked from a dream that he couldn't remember. His heart leapt ine hope, as he pushed the talk button, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Hello, my life sucks." He answered in an alarmingly optimistic tone of voice, considering his lack of inspiration and the fact that it was two in the morning.  
  
"Well gee, Hello to you too." Michael's familiar voice sounded in his ear sounding deceptively close. Justin could hear muffled voices in the background, and he knew Mikey was either watching some really cheap porno films, or he was out on the town with the boys. Honestly, Justin was jealous of either possibility. At this point, starving in a box painting masterpieces on rejected cardboard seemed more welcome than living in his crummy little New York aparetement, holed up with a blank canvas and a lack of artistic inclinations. Justin's heart plummeted as quickly as it had jumped into mhis throat. He wasn't dissapointed that Mikey he had called, he was just dissapointed that Brian hadn't. But then, he'd read the Brian Kinney Operating Mannual, Fuck, he could probably had re written it while his hands were tied behind his back, his eyes closed, while drunk and getting a world shattering blow job. "Hey Michael. How's Ben? and Hunter and JR?" Justin asked, pushing his thoughts of Brian to the back of his mind. No matter how hard he shoved, they were always lurking on the edges of his mind.  
  
"Brian's as fine as he ever is when you leave." Michael answered, knowing Justin's feelings for Brian far too well. "Drinking and drugging himself into a frenzy and tricking with everyone he's never had. And I'll just say that he's getting down to slim pickings." Justin could hear the forced humour in Michael's voice. He knew that Michael was probably worrying himself into many sleepless nights over Brian's pain management techniques. "Ben and Hunter and JR are good too." He added. "JR's eyes are the most periwinkle blue, you should see all the baby clothes Emmett chose out to accessorize them." 

Justin couldn't help but smile. Trust Emmitt to try and make a baby follow the rules of fashion. Still, it was better than Brian, buying Gus Prada and Gucci clothing that didn't exactly go hand in hand with zoodles and arts&crafts time. "Just so long as he stays away from tangerine. You know how hard it is for most people to wear tangerine." Justin joked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "Even JR." 

The red numbers of his alarm clock stared unblinkingly at him. 2:04 AM. Jesus. Michael cut to the chase, he was far to much of an Italian Queen to let things lie. Stirring up drama was Michael's middle name. "How are the Rage drawings coming along?" He asked, in a voice that cleary displayed his attempt to sound whimsical, and not pressuring at all. Justin let out a deep breath. 

The truth was he hadn't began his drawings. He felt as if his inspiration had been leeched out of him by this busy, unsleeping, unforgiving city that surrounded him. It had been alright at first, exciting and new. A million people he'd never met, and a million things he'd never seen or done. But eventually his awe with the city began to fade. He saw the dirty gum stuck in the grates at the subway, and the pigeons the flocked together like autistics at group functions. The people he walked past every day on his way to work were just nameless faces, hopeless people who were probably felt as lost as he did. Justin hadn't ever really felt alone ever. Debbie and the rest of the family didn't exactly allow for any thoughts of loneliness. But being so far from his family and his friends, and....Brian, felt like a constant hunger gnawing at his belly. Like he was starved of conversation and starved of caring. No one in Newyork cared about him. His agent, Donovan Garcia, cared that he wasn't pumping out any of the breathtaking paintings he'd been producing in Pittsburg. His landlord, Gary something or another, cared that he'd been short on his rent last month. Linda Bailey, his boss from Toscanos, the unfortunately hetero Italien restaurant he waited at, cared that he had dropped a tray of champagne flutes because his hand spasmed at the most inconvenient moment. But no one gave a good goddamn about _him_.   
  
Clearing his throat, Justin stared unblinkingly at the canvas. The way the light caught it was almost romantic. "I haven't really had time Michael, I'm really exhausted. It's almost Christmas, and I have three weeks to complete six paintings. " Justin forced himself to stop there, he wasn't about to give Michael the right to report to everyone that he was a whiney brat that couldn't make it in Manhattan. "As soon as I beat this deadline, I'll get started Michael. Maybe when I'm home for Christmas we can get together?" Justin's voice was honestly hopeful, but not because he wanted to see Michael. He wanted Michael to take the bait, and change the subject from his hand, and yet another deadline he had to reach.   
  
"Sure." Michael replied happily, his thirst for Justin to begin drawing again momentarily quenched. "Well, I'll tell every _one_ that you're okay, and that we can expect you for Christmas." He slyly emphasized the 'one' in everyone. Being sly wasn't exactly Michael's strong point. Justin could practically hear the victorious smile in his voice. "See you soon Zephyr." Justin replied jokingly, hanging up the phone and letting it fall to the floor with a thud. Two weeks to draw some form of inspiration from the dreary gray city around him. Fucking great. 

\---- 

**Of Michael Novotny** :  
  


Mikey clicked the cellphone shut with a light snap, and stepped back into Woody's, welcoming the familiar sounds. He thought that he'd be much happier with Justin gone, so that everything could return to normal, but then, when had things ever been normal on Libery Ave? He grabbed a stool beside Emmett, who was looking fruitier than his cocktail decked out in a pink mesh tanktop over a white tee. Coupled with black leather pants it really did amazing things for his lanky frame. 'Jesus.' Michael thought. 'Mom's right, I should stop reading the fashion tips in Out.' His eyebrows knit together in a worried kind of way as he saw Brian slam open the door as step into the room. No one could cause more neck injuries in a matter of seconds than Brian could. Especially when he was dressed for dancing.   
"Hey Brian." Mikey chirped as he drew near. Michael didn't need to sniff him to know he was wasted, the smell of stale alcohol followed him across the room. He was done like dinner. 

"What are you on?" Mikey asked in a motherly tone of voice, standing up quickly to offer Brian his stool. It was that or be sat on.

"Call my kid. He knows all the letters of the alphabet. So does my disco pharmacologist." Brian's lips drew up in the corners in a superior sort of smile, as if Michael were somehow mentally deficient for not knowing this already. Michael frowned, ignoring Brian's expression. He was used to Brian's bullshit by now, it just blew off him like raindrops on a water repelent windshield. Frown or no, Michael wished Brian would grow out of his infinite youth. He had thought that maybe, even with Justin gone, Brian would remain having moved beyond trying to cling to his fading prime. In Babylon, at the Grocery store, or in a fucking library, Brian Kinney would always be beautiful. Michael had sworn that long ago.

"Jesus Brian, you're going to get dehydrated mixing all that shit." Michael grabbed the front of Brian's jacket, attempting his most fierce parental frown. One of the two of them was bound to grow up eventually. And if you consider spending your day cataloguing comic books as being grown up, then I suppose Michael was the more adult of the dynamic duo. "Hang on, I'll grab you some water." 

Michael stepped away from the table, shaking his head to himself. He didn't catch the conversation he'd left behind but he found himself not worrying too much about it. It used to be he'd hand off everything Brian said, but lately he'd been getting irritated with Brian's I-Don't-Give-A-Shit attitude. How could he possibly think he could just slip back into his old life and no one would notice? That they'd all just forget he'd proposed, for fuck's sake. He'd had every intention of being monogamous. He even used the word love. And not in the same sentence as Armani. Michael had been conviced that Brian had grown up and out of his dangerous, sexually permiscuous lifestyle. But apparently even the proffessional Brian Kinney Manual suscribers missed some fine print. Michael made a mental note to read the section on post-cancelled marriage more closely next time. 

  
Despite his growing frustration with Brian refusing to admit that he'd had his heart broken, or that he even had a heart, Mikey couldn't help but admire his unfailing ability to be lusted after. You'd think that the ever fickle queer crowd would eventually grow old of _the_ Brian Kinney, but apparently not. And no matter how much he wished Brian would grow up, deep down Michael knew that he would never grow old of the Brian Kinney show either. Occasionally when he was out with the guys like this he felt a strong desire to just leave his family and his commitments behind and rejoin the Brian and Mikey acts. Live out the old days. But then he remembers that what he has with Ben is more valuable to him that partying into the morning with his own personal superhero.

Mikey headed back to the table carrying a bottle of water in his hand. His shoulders sank a little when he realised that his stool was once again available. He slammed the bottle onto the table a little more violently then necissary, and looked up, his face clearly displaying the hurt he felt. What a great way to make someone feel appreciated. To take off while they were trying to help you."Let me guess," Mikey began, his tone dripping with irritation.

"He went off to let some british tourist show him 'Big Ben.'" Ted finished his sentence, sipping innocently at his diet coke. 

Michael rolled his eyes. "Speaking of which, I should be getting home to my own Big Ben." He grinned, like a kid who's just scored big in a candy store. Ted and Emmett shared a smile, both thankful that Mikey wasn't tagging along after Brian, pining for him anymore. This new, self-actualized, home-making Michael was more assertive, and much more fun. Mikey pulled Emmett into a tight hug, planting a friendly kiss absent mindedly on his cheek. Hugging Ted in turn, Mikey left Woody's without a backwards glance. He was eager to get home and call Mel. He had to check on his hunnybun before he went to sleep, no matter that it was two thirty in the morning. 

\------ 

**Of Brian Kinney:**

Brian pressed his thumb to the inside of his eye socket, against the bridge of his nose. He pinched his eyes shut, taking a sip of his extra hot, extra dry, fat free venti latte, offering a silence thanks to the Arabians for discovering coffee. Who would have thought that someone else's near death by dehydration would have brightened his life in so many ways. Brian could always count on coffee to see him throught the hard times. If there were no acceptable looking men around, that is.   
  
"Cynthia?" Brian called, pressing the intercom button on his phone. He wished he had something harder than caffeine to knock back. He had told Justin that it didn't matter how long they didn't see eachother for, it wouldn't matter. But the truth of it all was, it did matter. He felt a pain in his chest that he chalked up to late night activities and lack of sleep, but he knew it was the empty, hallow feeling that waited for him when he got home, or went back to the loft. The barren smell of his bed now that would envelope him once he closed his eyes. He had never appreciated the smell of Justin's shampoo, the smell of his sweat after they'd fucked, until it wore off, and he was left with the scent of his own body.   
  
Cynthia's fashionably straight haired head popped through a gap in the sliding door that seperated Brian's office from the rest of Kinnetic. "Yes Brian?" Her voice was hesitant, as if she knew how Brian felt. It was riddiculous that Brian felt abandoned, when he had practically forced Justin out the door. He never would have forgiven Justin if he had stayed. He would have spent an eternity wondering if he had come between Justin and everything that he'd been working for since he could hold a fucking pencil. Raking his fingers through his hair, Brian turned to Cynthia, a distinctly bored expression on his face.  
  
"Cynthia." He stated it, as if it were a request in itself. "Tell me that you are as prepared as I am paying you to be. Tell me you have a secret stash of Jim Beam hidden in one of the unfashionably feminine wicker baskets you've got tucked neatly under your desk." He raised his eyebrows in a manner that clearly indicated that he was being completely serious. As if asking your assistant for alcohol in the middle of a day at work was a completely normal request.   
  
He eyebrows drew together as if she was trying to work out the hidden message in Brian's words. "Sorry Brian, I left my mid day binge drinking supply at home this morning." She gave her head a small shake, similar to the head shakes Brian had frequently seen Lindsay giving Gus when he was being insufferably childlike. Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Brian stared at the empty inbox that his computer screen was so proudly displaying. The chances of Justin having been mugged and left for dead in a dumpster were pretty good, he was living in Newyork after all. Brian silently fumed at the zero that sat so stubbornly beside the folder of Justin's e-mails. Nothing.   
  
Not that Brian had expected much more. Who the fuck would ever come back to Pittsburg? No one with a half decent chance to make it with their biggest dream. And after reading that fawning review about Justin in the art magazine Lindsay had given him, Brian figured Justin had it better than 'half decent.' It was only a matter of time before Justin realised what he'd been missing out on by staying with Brian for so long. Brian clenched his jaw, the muscles standing out harshly against his smooth skin. He took another sip of his specialty latte. He could e-mail Justin, but he didn't want to give him the power of knowing that he was aching for him to come home and fill the hole that he'd left behind.  
  
Brian pressed his finger to the intercom button once more. "Cynthia. Get me some bourbon. Jim Beam." He leaned back in his chair. Cynthia wouldn't dare refuse him, not when he was in this foul mood. He wondered if he'd ever return to being that 'over the hill club boy' that he'd left behind when he'd opted for Stepford fagdom. "Now." He added, pressing the button once more as he lifted his feet up to the desk beside his computer.  
  
He wondered if Remson Pharmaseuticals would mind him being heavily inebriated while they discussed the second wave of their campaign via telephone conference. He certainly hoped not, because drinking liberally was the only way he could survive the meeting.

\------

**Of Melanie Marcus:**

Melanie couldn't help but smile as she watched Linds break down the last of their moving boxes. "Well!" She exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Lindsay's waist as she stood. "We're done. We are finally here. For real." Mel whispered into her ear, as if it were a secret. Lindsay pulled away slightly, looking into Melanie's face with that small smile that Mel loved so much about her. Lindsay was one of the few people in the world that could convey any emotion through a simple smile. Brian could pretty much get any message across with a look, but it took an artist to do it all with a smile. And Lindsay was definetly an artist. Melanie hugged her tightly with one arm, feeling momentarily overwhelmed by the changes in her life.   
  
"We've been here two months now, Mel." Lindsay offered, slightly confused, but willing to wait for Melanie to explain.  
  
Melanie sighed, looking at all of their furniture, atleast the things they had picked out of their junk to bring with them. She smiled, spotting a green and black striped vase that has the figure of a curvaceous woman. All the furniture, every single item in their house had memories blanketing it, clinging to them like the musky smell of smoke on her grandfather's old clothing. It was disarming, seeing all of their life's objects placed so strategically around a foreign room. They may live here, and be safe and protected here, but it would be a while before Melanie could consider this her home. It was simply a house that her family and her occupied until their own home was safe for them to return to. It was never meant to feel so permanent, but with the last thing unpacked, and the kids tucked into their beds in their new rooms she couldn't help but feel like she was never going to see the inside of the Liberty Diner, or the Center again.  
  
"I know." Melanie sighed. "But it just feels so...final." Lindsay rested her chin on Melanie's shoulder, and observed the room, trying to see what Melanie was feeling about their new living area.  
  
"Well, we didn't move here for a vacation." Lindsay joked, ever the queen of avoiding emotional topics. Melanie caved, figuring that it wasn't worth talking about her discomfort. It had been her idea to move in the first place, and with the Prop 14 things still up in the air she didn't have any intention of returning her family to Pittsburg. It was pointless to bother Lindsay with silly thoughts about home and belonging when it would only upset her. She didn't want Linds to think that she was having second thoughts, because she wasn't.  
  
"I know sweetie." Melanie kissed Linsday lazily on her cheek. They were both so exhausted from the move, it had been weeks since they'de done anything more physical than the occasional kiss, stolen in passing as they bustled about setting up their new home. House. Whatever. "Can you believe it? We are actually going to legally be a couple." Melanie replied her voice dripping with awe. She still couldn't wrap her head around being a legal couple. Having all the same rights as her heterosexual counterparts.  
  
Lindsay laughed, tilting her head back. Her hair tickled Melanie's shoulder, but she didn't say anything. "It's always legalistics with you lawyers." She teased quietly, not wanting to wake the kids. "Come to bed, Mel. And bring to phone." Lindsay smiled, heading upstairs, towards their new bedroom. Having the bed that they'd shared for so long was a small comfort in the foreign home they'd made in Toronto.   
  
Melanie smiled, tiredness etched in the lines around her eyes. "I'll remember to put it on silent this time, for when Michael phones at the crack of dawn." She teased Michael instinctively, though he wasn't around to hear it. Yawning, Mel grabbed the phone and trotted up the stairs after Lindsay, noticing that they didn't creak the way the staircase in Pittsburg had. Her heart sank a little. As annoying as it had been when heading down for a midnight snack, Melanie couldn't help but feel as if it gave their old house character.  
  
' _Give it time, Marcus, this house will show it's character soon enough._ '   



	2. Of Love and Hate.

  
Author's notes: I don't know how much you'll all like this, but I sure hope you do.  
I am so goddamned tired, but I just couldn't stop writing, even though it's not that descriptive.  
I hope I didn't move to quickly for you lot.  
Enjoy.  


* * *

_"You woke up this morning,_  
and all the love was gone.  
Your papa never told you  
About right and wrong."  


**Of Theodore Schmidt:**

Ted stepped eagerly into Brian's office, sliding the door shut behind him. He paused only to peer into one of the three long, symmetrical black-framed mirrors Brian had imported from Italy. He pushed the thinning hair that hung on his forehead around, and seemed satisfied, though it looked no different. He casually picked up one of the strategically arranged green apples, and admiredt it, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black trousers. He blinked at Brian a few time, then daintily replaced the apple on the pile, obviously thinking the better of biting into part of the fruit display. "I don't know how you do it." Ted's voice was a mixture of disbelief and incredible admiration. "How can you impress a client when you are so intoxicated I doubt you could tie your own shoe, let alone spell half of the words you were using in there." He shook his head, as if he were accepting that he would never understand the diety that was Brian Kinney.  
  
"I suspect that my unfailing ability to succeed only scratches the surface of what you don't know." Brian took a drag of his cigarette, eyebrows raised expectantly. Like he was waiting for Ted to proove he had a good reason for interrupting whatever Brian was doing. Ted quirked his eyebrows, nodding briefly to agree with Brian. He really wouldn't ever understand Brian Kinney, but he wasn't alone in that aspect.  
  
"Listen Bri, Blake, Mikey, Emmett and I are heading over to Woody's after work. I thought you might like to come with." He phrased it casually. It made him feel important, being on a nickname basis with Brian. Like if he was familiar with Brian some of his superiority might just rub off on him. Not that he needed any of Brian's superpowers, now that he had a kept wife at home. An amazing wife that could cook, listen to _La Traviata_ , say 'No' to crystal and make love, all in one day.   
  
Brian pulled his lips between his teeth and turned his gaze to his computer screen, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. "Since I have no proir engagements, Theodore, I suppose I can make a public appearance with you Spice Girls." It was probably the most enthusiastically Brian had ever excepted one of Ted's invitations. 

Ted smiled slyly, the way a person smiles when they understand an inside joke. Ted liked to assume that he knew Brian better than most people, and in a weird kind of way, he did. Ted figured that with Justin gone, Brian would be nearly as bored as he'd been when he and Mikey had split. Ted had long since learned that letting Brian use his demeaning repertoire to camouflage his appreciation was alot easier than trying to fend off his insults with pathetic come-backs. Since becoming an employee at Kinnetic, Ted had rapidly learned to translate Brian's sarcastic insults into normal human responses.   
  
"Alright, I can take a hint." Ted backed away from Brian's desk, a victorious smile on his lips. "We can head there after we go over those new adboards for Wake." He held his hands up, indicating innocence. "I'll buy you a beer." He added it as an afterthought, anything to keep him from voicing his opinion on the idiocy of their latest account. Brian lifted a hand, acknowledging Ted's departure.  
  
Shaking his head and smiling in a satisfied manner, Ted returned to his office. Punching in the numbers for his condo, Ted pinched the phone between his ear and his shoulder, scrolling down on his computer. He didn't even notice Blake pick up on the other end because he was so distracted by the profits of this quarter at Kinnetic. Jesus, he hand't expected Kinnetic to take off like that, especially with everyone saying that it was a bad time to start an advertising company, due to market downsizing or something. Trust Brian to prove them all wrong. He'd probably started Kinnetic to spite them.   
  
"Hello? Ted?" Blake's voice sounded tinny, like he was in the bathroom. "Hello?"   
  
A sly smile spread on Ted's lips as he crossed his arms, leaning against his desk. "Hey sugar." Ted replied in a corny, seductive voice. "How was your day?"   
  
He found it to be a great comfort, knowing that someone who understood, and loved him was waiting for him at home. Someone who had been down the long road of the big C and come out the other side alive. Someone who understood the depressions, and the longing to just fall back into a crystal induced high. Simply hearing his voice reminded Ted that there was a reason of he'd left that world behind. Blake was like his pillar of strength.  
  
"I led two meetings. You remember D and G? Jonathan?" Blake sounded contently distracted, like he was thinking about someplace amazing. Ted loved it when he got excited over patients, it reminded him how good hearted his lover was, and how lucky he was to have him. "Well, he's been clean for two weeks now. Two weeks, Ted! That's huge for him. He's even stopped saying that everyone relapses." Blake sighed lightly, like a dog laying in the sunshine. "Are you going to be here for dinner?"  
  
Ted shook his head, pointlessly. "No, Brian and I are ordering in Thai. I'll meet you at Woody's? Say around..." He trailed off, pushing back his sleeve slightly and glancing at his watch. "Nine thirty? We've got some stuff to go over for that new surfing supplies account I told you about." He wished that he could make it home for dinner, he really loved Blake's cooking. There wasn't much he didn't like about Blake, but he found himself acting a little more guarded than he normally did. He was getting sick of hoping that he'd found _the one_ only to have things end abruptly.   
  
"Sounds great." Ted could hear Blake bustling about, shifting pots and pans around. "Love you." He added, almost thoughtlessly.  
  
Ted's breath caught for a second. "See you then." He placed the phone gently in it's cradle. Blake had said it as an afterthought, something intimate and casual. Ted didn't realise how flushed his cheeks were until he caught his reflection on the computer screen when he flicked it off.

\------  
 **  
Of Justin Taylor:**

Patrick Hunte. Justin's ever elusive roommate was supposedly coming home that night, and Justin still wasn't sure how he felt about it. He'd been staying at this guy's house for a couple of months now, and he was getting used to having it all to himself. Patrick had apparently been backpacking across Europe during the summer, with ever intention on returning come September, but his plans had changed when he'd gotten a job picking tangerines in Greece. It was such a romantic notion, that Justin found himself liking Patrick before they'd ever even met.   
  
Justin stared unblinkingly at the white ceiling that stretched above him. The floor was cold against his back, but he welcomed it. He had been feeling bland, and numb for a few days, like unending turmoil of the city was sucking his soul from his body. He abscent mindedly rubbed his thumb, it was a nervous tick that had developped in the months he'd been in Manhattan. He didn't need to look to his right to see his empty canvas. The failure was looming in every corner of his mind. His thoughts didn't stray from the blank off-white fabric that was stretched so neatly over it's boxframe on his easel. It was like a goddamn bridal gown: untainted by colour. So smugly innocent, it's blank expression was like a slap in the face every time it caught his eye. It exhausted him.  
  
Sitting up, Justin looked over, grudgingly. He hated that canvas, and the way it seemed to rule his mind. It's emptiness holding sway over his emotions. Pressing his palm hard against his forehead, Justin inhaled deeply. He needed to get out, though he wasn't sure if he meant physically, or mentally. He just needed to escape. Christmas wouldn't come fast enough.   
  
He didn't understand this Patrick character. Who lets a stranger live in their condo for two fucking months? Especially in New York. Justin didn't know much about Mr. Hawke, other than he was gay and he liked passing his time picking fruit under a Grecian sun. Walking to the fridge, Justin pulled it open, grabbing a cardboard container of cold tortellini and a beer. He speared the stuffed noodles with a plastic fork, eationg though his hunger had long since left him. Every morning he was greeted by a reflection that he hardly recognized. He wasn't that changed, but his cheeks were more hallowed than he'd ever seen them before, and dark circles framed his sky blue eyes. If any of his friends from home had seen him they would have panicked over his state. His eyes were glassy looking, and he hadn't even been smoking pot. Running his fingers through his hair, Justin flopped onto the computer chair. He didn't want to check his e-mail, because the empty inbox that awaited him would only darken the cloud of gloom that seemed to follow his every move.  
  
Reluctantly he opened the internet, accessing his inbox. An e-mail from his mother, demanding his flight schedule. An e-mail from Debbie, asking if he was eating enough. He glanced guiltily over at the half eaten tortellini he'd placed on the counter beside his computer. He felt sick even looking at it. He hadn't felt like this since his mother had tried to sever his ties with Brian after he'd been bashed. Like any second he'd either fall over dead, or work himself into an unstoppable rage. He wasn't very optimistic about either option. Sighing with resignation he finished off the tortellini, if only so that he could e-mail Debbie and tell her he was eating enough. As if one mother wasn't enough.  
  
His nose crinkled as he whinced, chasing a slam of bourbon with a sip of his beer. He felt restless, and awkward. He had come to think of this place as his apartement, and he felt out of place and conspicuous now, knowing that in a few short hours Patrick would be coming home, and he would be just some stranger living in his home. He rubbed his eyes; they stung a little, as if there were onions nearby, but he knew there weren't.   
  
'Get a grip, Taylor.' He told himself, taking another mouthful of the bourbon. He closed his eyes. Newyork just wasn't as glamourous as he was sure Brian had imagined. 'Brian...' He could be dead for all Brian would know. He could drop off the face of the planet, and he doubted that Brian Kinney would even look over his shoulder, or wonder what happened to his short term fiancee. 'Fuck.' Justin brought the bottle to his lips again, letting the warmth of the alcohol flood his veins; warming up everything except his heart, which felt like it was a fire that had been doused with icewater.  
  
\------

**Of Brian Kinney:**  
  
Brian flipped through the boards that the art departement had organized for him and Ted to go over. There were a few options, all designed for magazine pages. Of all the options, Brian liked the one that featured a young man with sun bleached hair sprawled on a surfboard, one arm draped over his face, shading his eyes from the sun. He was partially in the water, small tips of the waves lapped along his grecian god looking body. The sand clung to his arms and sides like a second skin. It read along the bottom in orange writing (because that was all the rage): Surf. The rest is wasted time.  


He held it up for Ted, taking a step backwards, as if to give him a better view, though he could see fine from where he was. "What do you think?" He didn't give a fuck what Ted thought, he was going to run it in every hetero and homo sports mag he could get his hands on. He was distracted. The vote for Proposition 14 loomed on the horizon, and he felt like it was his only chance to prove to everyone that he could be Rage. That he could save Gayoppolis; that he could live up to everything his fictional self awed his readers with. Although, Brian enjoyed being uncredited more than being a public superhero. It made him feel superior.   
  
"It's not an innuendo." Ted observed, sounding shocked.  
  
Brian looked at Ted as if he were retarded. Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Brian leaned it against the window. "Your powers of observation astound me, Theodore." Brian set the discarded boards on the top of his desk, leaning against the corner pensively. "You're going to vote 'No', aren't you Theodore? While we can still vote at all." Brian raked his hand through his hair. There was no TV in the room, but Brian could pretty much hear the anchors voice announcing recent hatecrimes. It seemed like it was becoming a fad: gay bashing. As the vote drew nearer and nearer the fucking heteros seemed more and more shocked by the physical attacks. Nothing as drastic as the bomb at Babylon, but that didn't make in excusable. Brian resented feeling so riled up about some freedom fighting business, but it affected his ability to fuck publically, and he wouldn't let anyone mess with his sex life.  
  
"Jesus Bri, what fag in Pittsburg isn't?" Ted seemed afronted by Brian's question. He didn't realise that Brian was just making a conversation to distract himself. He was bored of thinking about Proposition 14. He was sick of having the fleeting hope that maybe some of this sensless violence; the same violence that had landed Justin in the hospital and almost ruined his career as an artist, would affect some of those fucking homophobics. Brian raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it up off his forehead. He wanted to call Justin. To make sure he was getting on okay with Daphne's friend. He'd heard from his various sources that Justin's painting career wasn't blossoming as quickly as everyone had hoped. No appologies and no regrets was the Kinney credo, but he found himself breaking it. Wishing that he'd never pushed Justin out the door, out of the nest and out of his life.   
  
Brian looked up and Ted from under his eyebrows. "Come on Theodore. You are buying me a drink." Brian stood, pulling the door open for Ted. Ted shook his head, in that way that Brian hated, as if he had a secret. He needed a drink; anything to get his mind off of the injustices that were taking place in his home. He needed to blanket his thoughts with as many illegal substances he could purchase at Poppers. He needed to feel the thumpa thumpa, and remember that nothing could stop the gay beat.   
  
His mind felt like a tornado, but it was nothing some heavy drug use couldn't fix.   
  
\------

**Of Ben Bruckner:**

Ben glanced up from his writing at the clock that sat above his television. He worried when Michael stayed out late like this, especially with the rise in hate crime recently. He knew how Brian needed Mikey, what with Justin gone. He understood that cowering at home was not the way to go about getting the Proposition turned down, but everytime Michael went out Ben couldn't help but remember the bomb. The eternty he spent sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, wondering if he was going to live or die. As the minutes ticked past, every second that Mikey didn't call made Ben more and more nervous. He wished that Brian had less infantile ways to cope with his issues, so that Michael would be free to stay at home with him and Hunter every once in a while.   
  
His hand hurt, and he was having trouble holding his pen. He knew he ought to be grateful that he'd written this much in one sitting; grateful that he had a functioning hand, unlike Justin. Ben's hand only gave out after a few hours of long writing. He couldn't even imagine how Justin must feel. As a writer, he understood the need to create, and the idea that Justin had to suffer in order to do something that he would die without made Ben feel like a selfish child for being irritated with his cramping hand.  
  
Closing the book with the pen still tucked inside, Ben placed it on the table. He sunk into the couch, his eyes resting on the clock's emotionless face once again. It sangs it's little tantric chant: tic-tock, and every time it sounded Ben's heart sank a little more. What if something terrible had happened to Michael? After the bomb, Ben wasn't sure he could go on without him. He was so lucky to have found the sepcial someone that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and now his own country wanted to make his dreams impossible.  
  
Thank god they had adopted Hunter before the proposition was passed. Ben cleared his mind, rubbing his face with one hand. 'If the proposition gets passed.' Ben reminded himself. There was still hope.  
  
"You know," Ben started, he hadn't heard Hunter come down the stairs. "Staring at that clock will only make the time pass slower." Ben's lips curled up into a lopsided smile. He looked distracted. It seemed to be the general feel of every fag in Pittsburg. Every homosexual, transexual, and bisexual was busy thinking about more important things, like their rights as American citizens. Jesus, Ben almost felt like kidnapping Michael and Hunter and fleeing to Canada like Mel and Linds. Almost. Mikey would never leave Brian, not so soon after Justin had left. Or Brian had forced Justin to leave, but only if you got technical. 

Ben moved his legs off the couch so Hunter could sit down beside him. There was nothing like father-son bonding while staring at the clock. "Actually, time passes as the same rate no matter what you're doing. It just seems to take longer if you're waiting for something." Hunter wasn't an eight year old, but Ben couldn't help but turn his every comment into a learning experience.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Informative." Hunter replied sarcastically, like most teenagers, he thought he knew everything. Hunter pulled his eyes away from the clock and turned to Ben. "Dude, he's coming home. Just like always." Ben smiled, it was nice to see Hunter a little more positive. He'd been alot happier since he'd gotten back. Ben figured it was one of those you-don't-know-what-you've-got-til-it's-gone scenario's. Hunter needed to get away to know that he was wanted and loved, and that he wanted and loved everyone back in Pittsburg. He needed to be sure that this is where his family is, and that they would always be there for him. 

Ben reached over and tousled Hunter's hair. He knew that he had more to appreciate than most people, and he was so thankful that Hunter had returned home, safe and in one peice. "Oh, I know he's coming home. I just think the worried housewife role suits me." Ben stood, wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water. He wanted a beer, but the new proteus inhibitors that the doctors had him on were strict about alcohol consumption in the first three weeks of the medication. They could only pray that his pancreas would continue to remain fine. 

"Like hell it suits you." Hunter chirped from the living room. Ben heard the TV flick on, and some rehearsed, forced laughter sounded out. They really had to get Hunter watching something other than talk shows about pregnant lesbian teens who'd caught their mothers having affairs with their boyfriends. Maury and Jerry Springer just weren't that educational. "It has often been said that Michael is half Italian and half Drag Queen. I think that fact alone lines him up perfectly for the role as worried wife. Not to mention, he's a total bottom." Ben chuckled under his breath. He was pretty sure it wasn't normal to be that comfortable about sex around your parents, but there wasn't much that Hunter hadn't done. Ben loved him regardless.  


"Yes, well, bottom or not, I am worried about us, not just Michael. You've seen the news." Ben didn't want to frighten Hunter, but he strongly believed in truth, and hiding what was happening would just be an insult to Hunter. He had a right to know, his parents were both homosexual men after all. He offered a glass of water the Hunter and sat back down on the couch, grabbing the remote off the table. He didn't want to watch the news. He was tired of seeing familiar names flit across the bottom of the screen, named as victims of hate crime. He settled for Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.   
  
"Yeah..." Hunter trailed off, focusing intently on the movie. "It's hard to avoid." 

\------

**Of Michael Novotny:**

Mikey had been feeling kind of flu-y all day, but he opted to go out with the boys, if only to prevent Brian from drinking himself to death. He'd invited Ben to join them, but he knew bofore he even asked that Ben was going to say no. He'd stopped frequenting homosexual establishements almost entirely, and Mikey knew it was probably wise to lie low and not flaunt the bad reputation the Gay lifestyle had earned among the heteros. He just couldn't let fear control him.   
  
"Hi sweetie!" Emmett greeted him, planting a kiss daintily on Mikey's cheek. "No hubby again tonight?" He asked, looking through the throng of being behind Michael, searching for Ben. Everyone had noticed Ben's lack of social activity as of late, and for the most part they ignored it. Chalked it up to the new pills, the rambunction teenager at home, and the looming deadline for his book. Fags can't resist a bit of drama though, and Ben's seclusion definetly peaked a few ears. Mikey nodded a greeting to Blake and hopped onto a stool across the table from them. Ted wasn't here yet, why wasn't anyone grilling Blake about his absent husband? Mikey ignored the fact that Ted was coming later, with Brian.   
  
Michael shrugged, accepting the beer Emmitt had slid across the table towards him. "Not tonight, he's helping Hunter study for Geography. He's got a big exam coming up next week." Mikey excused Ben. It wasn't exactly a lie, Hunter did have a test next week, but Michael seriously doubted that Ben and Hunter were studying at the moment. Watching TV and fretting about him more likely.   
  
The music was low, and mellow at Woody's, perfect for conversation. Mikey imagined it would suit the credits at the end of Rage, if it ever became a hollywood production. It didn't help with his under the weather feeling though; it was making him feel sluggish and lethargic. "What's up?" He asked, perking up slightly, hoping for something interesting to distract Emmett and Blake from Ben's absence. He raised his eyebrows in the middle, appearing very much like an expectant child.  
  
"Funny you should ask." Emmett began, shifting in his stool, and pausing for dramatic tension. "I'm planning this super-fab party for Christmas, thought with a bunch of us fairies there, it's hardly christian." He added, matter of factly. "You are both invited, of course. I've been warned not to over do the lights, because it's at Brian and Justin's house, and Brian is worried about people getting seizures. But I will find something else to accesorize the living room with, because, after all, I am decorating genius!" He explained it all very enthusiastically. Michael was happy that Em had found something that he loved doing, and did so well. Planning parties was Emmett's calling.   
  
Swallowing hard, Michael froze for a moment. Brian _and Justin's house_? As far as he knew Justin had never lived there, never paid any of it. Hell, he hadn't even married Brian. It bugged Mikey that Emmett had reffered to it as _their_ house, because as far as he was concerned it was Brian's house. Justin had no part of it. Personally, Michael didn't see why Brian had kept it. It's upkeep was riddiculously expensive, and Brian didn't even live there. It was too romantic a gesture for Brian, and Michael hoped it was just spite that kept him from selling it. 

"You mean Brian's house." He emphasized, not even realising that he was picking at the smallest of details, and taking away from Emmett's anouncement. 

Em patted Mikey on the shoulder, "Whatever, hun. Brian's house, then. "

Blake sipped at his sparkling water. "Me and Ted would love to come. We haven't evens een Brian's house yet." He emphasied Brian's name, blinking innocently at Michael. 

Mikey's eyebrows drew together in a frown. He didn't like being teased because he was sticking up for Brian. They had called off the wedding, so Mikey was just defending Brian's rights to the house. He sure hoped that Justin didn't still consider it his house too. "I'm sure Brian's house will look great once you've spruced it up a bit." Mikey replied, frowning at Blake. "It's a good thing it came pre-furnished, or we'd all have to sit on the floor like at you're geisha party." He laughed awkwardly, remembering Ben's outburst at the fabulous oriental party Emmett had planned for him. He'd eaten rice noodles for days after that because Emmett had spent almost all of hte budget on lanterns. 

"As if I would have kept any of that mediocre, self-assembled Ikea brand furniture that the house came with." Brian's voice drawled from behind Michael. Mikey spun around on his stood as Brian slid onto a stell beside him a distinctly predatorial manner. It was common knowledge that the furniture had been expensive victorianesque, but apparently Brian's tastes were vastly superior that those of it's previous owners. Trust Brian to spend a small, or debatably large, fortune on refurnishing a house that was fine to begin with. He was the definition of high class consumer. 

Michael grinned with smile that was reserved for Brian alone. "You know perfectly well that that furniture cost more than my annual salary." Michael laughed, ignoring the fact that Brian had confiscated his beer. He was feeling a little feverish, and he wasn't planning on drinking it anyway. Not that it would have stopped Brian if he had been. 

"Mikey, my toaster-over cost more than you make in a year." Brian pointed out, infuriatingly reasonably. Mikey just shrugged. He caught Ted kiss Blake hello, and whisper something into his ear. He couldn't help but smile. He knew that he and Ben looked every bit as happy as Ted and Blake looked in that particular second. He loved knowing that no matter what he did and where he was he was loved. Not only by Ben. He had an enormous, motely crew for a family, and he loved every single one of them. Blake was pretty much part of it now, which was good, because Debbie was often saying he was too thin. Atleast now she had the right to stuff his so full he wouldn't eat for weeks. Debbie was convinced that she could pretty much cure any illness with her food, as far as Michael was concerned. 

Emmett gave Brian a light hug, and they both looked pretty awkward about it. Mikey loved how they clashed. Brian; ever aloof, and seriously fashionable, and Emmett; the nelliest queen on the block. Atleast they were both...tall.Michael rubbed his upper arms, which were aching slightly with his low fever. He wished he could enjoy this all more, but he was feeling a little bit sick. Stifling a yawn, he listened to Brian and Emmett discuss the fine points of the upcoming party. He couldn't believe it was almost Christmas again.

\------

**Of Brian Kinney** :

Brian left the last bit of beer in the bottom of his glass, it was all foam anyways. He mentally prayed that Emmett heeded his warning about the lights. He had a small amount of lenience to tastefully arranged white christmas lights, but he wasn't going to stand to have any of those nelly coloured lights in his home. It was far to tacky, and it would class with his tastefully decorated living room and kitchen.   
  
He noticed Mikey shifting about, pressing his hand to his forehead occasionally, but he didn't think anything of it. He was probably just worried sick about being up so late past his bed time.   
  
Time passed more rapidly than the snails pace the rest of his day had crawled by at. He enjoyed having something to distract him, and while there weren't any particularily eye catching men in the bar, there was one lanky looking fellow with great hair playing pool. Brian could almost smell foreigner on him. He hardly paid attention to the conversation that swirled around him, because the almost-babe was bending over, trying to shoot a combo, and his ass looked ever so inviting. Brian pushed himself away from the table, rising to his feet. "Well, it's been wonderful ladies, but I've got someone better to do." He stalked off, ignoring Michael pointing out that he'd only been there a half hour.  
  
Brian waited for the blond to finish his shot before he made a move. He didn't sink it, so Brian figured he had the duration of his friend's turn to seduce him. Like he'd need that much time. Nodding a greeting, Brian placed on hand on the pool cue, sliding it up and down along it's length, slowly. "Busy?" He asked, thought it was more of an invitation that a genuine question.

"Now that you're here." The man replied in a distinctly british accent. Brian grinned slyly, ignoring the fact that the Brit had no idea what he was smiling about. His blond hair wasn't as fine as Justin's, nor as soft looking. Brian hated that he'd noticed, but he couldn't help himself. Pulling the pool cue from his hands, Brian placed in precariousl yon the edge of the table. He locked eyes with the dark haired guy across the table, tilting his head sympathetically to the side.  
  
"I'm taking you're partner. Find someone else to play with. He has." Brian was fluent in sarcasm. If it was an art, he would have been the one at Pittsburg College for Fine Arts, not Justin. He wasn't about to be polite to the guy, not when he had eyebrows that could have used a good lawn-mowing.

Brian turned on his heel, weaving through the people towards the door like a dangerous feline stalking it's chosen prey. The tourist followed him obediently, not bothering to offer an appologetic shrug to his abandoned pool partner. "I'm Greame." His trick informed him as the door swung open. Brian waited for the people to pass through before he stepped into the brisk air of the street outside.  
  
"How wonderful for you." Brian replied, looking at Graeme with a vastly superior sneer. He didn't bother introducing himself. He didn't was to hear his name coming out of Graeme's mouth when he made him cum over and over again. He never told his tricks his name anymore, and never rembered theirs. Giving them his name only gave them the impression that he cared about them. He considered his name to be above them; to intimate a detail to be stored in their pathetic, tweaked out little brains. He was suprised that he was leaving Woody's after only a beer and a half. It was probably the most legally he'd driven in his entire life.  
  
The two made their way around the corner, into the small alley beside Woody's where Brian had parked his corvette. "I've only been in the USA for two weeks. The weather here is pretty similiar to ours." Brian ignored him, he didn't give a fuck about the weather. Pushing Graeme up against the side of the car, Brian pressed himself along against him, bringing his lips to Graeme's suddenly and violently. One of his hands ran up the inside of Graeme's thigh, rubbing his crotch gently, feeling his cock harden under his massaging hand. He was grateful for a way to stop the stupid twink's mindless words.  
  
A gruff voice from behind him startled him, thought he didn't miss a beat. "Get AIDS and die, fag." Brian ignored it, snaking his tongue into Graeme's mouth. Like he was going to stop what he was doing for some pathetic fag-hating hetero who'd lost his wat in the Pitts and wound up on Liberty Ave. "Your mother must hate you. God certainly does." Brian pulled away from Greame, and turned around, sighing deeply, as if he'd been caused a great amount of irritation. Which he had. He strongly resented being interrupted so that this homophobe could get some verbal kicks.  
  
The owner of the voice was a toweringly tall man, atleast four inches taller than Brian, and a good fifty pounds heavier. Brian leaned against the side of his Corvette, appraising his verbal assaulter with a look of distainful superiority, like he was being tainted by simply making eyecontact with the neanderthalic breeder that stood before him. "I have it on good authority that God is a flaming homo." Brian replied in a bored tone of voice, admiring the nails on his right hand. It was true. He'd heard it in a dream about a dead queen. Vic Grassi wouldn't lie to him, least of all in one of his own dreams.

He politely ignored the comment about his mother, because the man was too right to argue the point.   
  
"Go to hell."   
  
Brian blinked at the man a few time, his face a picture of disbelief. Like he couldn't actually believe the pathetic rebuttle his comment had earned. "That's original." He nestled into his scarf a little further, the cold nipping at his ears. He waited patiently for the breeder to get bored of his little game of harass-the-homo. All these goddamned heteros were jealous that he was getting more ass than they were, making more money than them and a fuck load better looking than they were. He didn't blame them, he'd be jealous of the fags if he were a hetero. He couldn't even imagine being condemned to fucking the same pussy for the rest of his life. He shuddered at the thought.It happened suddenly, and he really hadn't expected it. He had thought that it was all talk, and absolutely no walk to back it up. He didn't even have time to react before the thick fist smashed into the side of his face. Brian wasn't exactly a fighter, though he had enjoyed fighting Justin that once. Shamefully, his first thought was 'I fucking hope that doesn't scar.' He coughed into his hand, doubled over. He spat blood onto his palm. If he lost any teeth to this bastard, he would sue him to motherfucker hell. 

"I think there is a daily anger management program at the Pittsburg General. You should look into that." He choked out, spitting more blood onto the pavement.  
He didn't notice if Graeme had left, or if he was still leaning against the Corvette. Brian rested his elbows on his thighs, still bent in two. The last thing he remembered before the inky tendrils of blacknes knit their way across his vision was the sight of a knee crunching into his face. Pain laced through his face, jolting down his body.

'Fuck.' Brian's heart fell as he crumpled to the ground, images of Justin lying on the pavement after the prom flashed through his head as he blacked out. 


	3. Of Shock

  
Author's notes: Well, here you are.  
I've almost finished the next chapter as well.  
I'm trying my hardest to portray the characters accurately. Let me know how I'm doing, wont you?  


* * *

__  


 

_'You should know by now_   
_that the darkest hour_   
_is when your broken heart_   
_goes down.'_

**Of Justin Taylor:**  
  
Justin heard the lock click as a key turned in the hole. It always made the same grating sound when it was unlocked, Justin had become accustomed to it. His head spun around, and the room followed a split second behind. He hadn't meant to bet so inebriated, but in truth, once he'd started drinking he'd completely forgotten about Patrick coming home. Great first impression he was going to make, being drunk and alone. Rising to his feet, Justin stumbled, his back colliding with the wall, the corner of a tacky painting stabbing him sharply in the shoulder.  
  
"Fuck." He exclaimed, as if he was suprised that he couldn't stand straight. He slide down the wall onto his ass, reaching behind him to rub his offended shoulder. Laughter bubbled up out of his throat; he couldn't contain himself. He was in such a riddiculous position. He'd stayed for a few months in a strangers apartement, and now, when the first impression mattered the most, he was drinking by himself, vandalizing the frighteningly bad art, and sitting on the floor. Atleast he wasn't popping speed like tic-tacs. Justin rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear his head and wake himself up. He could hear footsteps in the hallway, headed towards the living room, where he was seated.   
  
He slammed his head back against the wall once, he needed something to focus on so that he could at least act half decently normal. He closed his eyes tightly then opened them, startled to see Patrick standing hesitantly at the doorway from the Kitchen to the living room. It was his house, what the fuck was he waiting for?  
  
"You're a right fucking mess." Patrick's voice was light hearted, as if he found Justin's state of inebriation to be heavily amusing. Patrick was about Justin's height, and quite a bit slimmer. He would have made a fabulous drag queen, with sharply slanted cheekbones and chocolate coloured eyes. He stood with his weight on one foot, and one hand on his hip. His pants were a pair of french looking grey flannel capris that folded up at his mid calf, they were held up by a tastefully rustic looking gold belt. Justin's eyes travelled up Patrick's legs, across the tight white t-shirt and belly button length, sleevless plaid vest he wore. His skin was pale and flawless. He was dressed in a flamboyantly homosexual manner, but he did resonate a certain level of sophistication.   
  
Justin frowned up at Patrick. He recognized the voice, but he couldn't place it in him memory. Maybe he'd picked him up whilst tricking some night at Babylon. He squinted, trying to blurr his vision a little. Chances are he was alot more drunk when he met Patrick at Babylon that he was currently, if he had met him at Babylon that is. "Do I know you?" Justin asked, his words slurred a little.  
  
"Justin?" Patrick asked at the same time, one hand perched on his hips in an extremely nelly manner. Justin could tell already that he was a total bottom.  
  
Patrick's exclamation of confusion confirmed Justin's thoughts that they'd met before. "Don't tell me." Justin held up a hand, sliding a little further down the wall. "Babylon?" There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, like he ought to remember more clearly than he did. Justin chuckled lightly again, feeling very clever for having figured it out.   
  
"Uh..." Patrick looked confused, and kind of hurt, as if he'd expected Justin to remember meeting him clearly, as he obviously did. "No." He cleared his throat, his eyes falling to the ground beside Justin. "Daphne's party, senior year." He closed his eyes, a look crossing his face like he was trying to get something out of his mind.  
  
Jesus. Justin buried his face in his hands, slouching sideways slightly. He remembered Patrick now. The virgin he'd fucked in the coat room. The first person he'd broken the rule about not kissing anyone else on the mouth with. Justin pushed his hair out of his face abscent mindedly. Of course Daphne hadn't known about him and Patrick, he'd never told her. He was sure the Patrick was feeling some level of regret, having let Justin into his home after the way Justin had treated him when he'd come to Liberty Ave looking for him.   
  
"Right..." Justin trailed off, his eyes crossing and uncrossing a few times rapidly. He was too drunk to deal with this shit right now. He had no idea what to say about how he'd treated Patrick, but he figured an appology was a good way to go. "Sorry. About being such a twat to you before." He cleared his throat, it was his turn to stare at the floorboards. He seriously couldn't imagine anyone he'd have liked to walk through that door less. He never thought he'd see this kid again, but from how he appeared, Justin was sure he'd gotten alot more comfortable being a fag that he was the last time Justin had seen him.   
  
Justin heard a Patrick chuckle, and it wasn't in an uncomfortable kind of way. Justin stared at Patrick's shoes as he walked across the room and slide down the wall beside Justin. He turned his head up to admire that crooked painting that hung above them. "Don't worry about the painting. It's ugly anyway." Justin grinned, following the direction of Patrick's eyes to the tacky gold frame above them. It really was ugly. A fat too bright looking rendition of an old country farm yard. The sheep looked more like clouds with legs and eyes. Justin couldn't even pick out the ears. It looked like something Debbie would pick up at a yard sale. It matched all the porcelain cats she had scattered randomly around her living room.  
  
Justin laughed, meeting Patrick's gaze. He didn't look like a Patrick. Justin laughed again, unable to help himself, and thankful that it wasn't as awkward as he had thought it would be when he'd first put two and two together as to where he knew Patrick from.  
  
\------  
 **  
Of Ben Bruckner:**  
  
"I'll wake you when I hear from him." Ben called as Hunter headed up the stairs. Hunter paused, peering over the railing at Ben, who was still seated on the couch, watching the credits of Indian Jones roll up the television screen. Hunter shook his head at Ben, as if he was being riddiculous.  
  
"Don't bother, _mom_ " Hunter drawled sarcastically. "I'll see him at breakfast. We'll make idle conversation over Captain Crunch, just like every other morning." Ben smiled hopelessly up at Hunter. The poor kid was sarcastic even when he was trying to be reassuring. He simply nodded, distractedly as Hunter continued up the stairs.  
  
He wasn't sure where Michael was, he usually called by now. Ben was starting to get worried. Okay, that's a lie, he'd begun getting worried roughly three hours ago. Lighting some incense, Ben picked up his journal again, flipping it open to the page he'd left off at. He started at the cursive writing before him, not reading the scrawling that covered the pages. He couldn't concentrate.   
  
Ben gave up on his writing once again, replacing his journal dejectedly on the coffee table. He rose, trotting to the kitchen he grabbed the phone. He was trying to give Michael his freedom, but it was impossible for him to get anything accomplished when he was worrying himself sick over his absent boyfriend. He punched in Mikey's cellnumber, putting the phone to his ear. It went straight to voicemail. "Michael, where the hell are you? Hunter and I are getting worried. Call me when you get this." Hunter wasn't exactly worried, but Ben wasn't about to let Michael know that he was sitting at home fretting himself into a tilly.  
  
Replacing the phone on it's hook, Ben stared at it for a few seconds, as if he were waiting for Michael to call back immediately. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, there was a headache lacing behind his eyes. "Fuck, Michael, where the hell are you?" He exhaled, talking to himself.   
  
Ben wasn't sure how much time passed, but he managed to nod off to sleep on the couch. He was jerked from his restless sleep by the phone ringing. He leapt to his feet and lunged into the kitchen, praying that it was Mikey, calling to say he was okay.  
  
"Michael?" Ben asked, worry woven into his words.  
  
"Sorry honey, It's Em. Mikey's fine though." Emmett's words swept away Ben's fear and lifted a humongous weight off his shoulders.   
  
"He's fine?" Ben asked for confirmation, relief washing over him. "Where are you guys? It's almost four in the morning!" Ben's worry was gone, and irritation at Michael for not calling was begining to rear it's angry head. "Why didn't he call me?" In fact, he'd sent Emmett to call and let Ben know he was fine. Ben rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the muscles that had knit themselves into knots.  
  
Emmett sighed into the phone. "He's fine, Ben. Sorry i'm calling so late, but Ben, It's Brian. Something's happened."  
  
Ben's heart leapt into his throat. He knew that Michael would always have a place in his heart for Brian, and Ben seriously hoped that Brian hadn't suddenly decided to reciprocate the feelings. Ben rubbed his forehead, giving his head a shake. Brian was hopelessly in love with Justin, and there wasn't anything that could tear him away from Justin, emotionally. He was being unreasonably assumptive about his husband. "What's happened Emmett? Spit it out." From the tone of Emmett's voice, Ben was sure it was something bad. And it must be serious, if Michael was having Emmett call home for him.  
  
"Brian's in the hospital, he's really hurt. Some fag hating breeder ran into him and his trick outside of Woody's. I'm assuming he got lippy or something, you know how he hates heteros. Especially homophobic ones." Emmett said it all at once, like he needed to get it out of his system. Ben's breath hitched, and for a second he felt faint. He was overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions. He felt guilty that relief has flooded him, he was so thankful the Michael was okay. He was terrified for Brian. He didn't know how Mikey would deal if he lost Brian. They were all one big family and Ben felt as if Brian was a particularily sarcastic cousin of his, one that he would hate to lose. Hell, he was sure even Mel would miss Brian if he died.  
  
Ben loosened his grip on the phone, and his white knuckles gained color once again. "Is he going to be okay?" Ben asked anxiously. Emmett paused on the line.  
  
"We aren't sure yet, but Michael wants me to tell you not to come down here. He says it's too crowded and he'll call you when he can. I have to go now Ben, the nurse is yelling at me because my cellphone may stop someone life support or something, that selfish twat." Ben didn't know if he should listen to Michael's advice, or if he should disobey, greab Hunter and drive down to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. He knew Michael well enough to know he would be a fucking mess if things were looking down. Actually, he'd be a mess if things were looking up as well.   
  
"Thanks for calling Emmett." Ben hung up the phone, unsure of what to do. He always figured Brian was invinsible, and he supposed everyone did; it was the way Brian came off. Like nothing could touch him. Ben could remember a time when homophobia was nothing more than bullying in schools and the occasional thrown punch for PDA. Ben blamed prop 14 for the rise in hate crime. Ever since the controversy on the proposition arose the crime rate had been rising steadily. Ben rubbed his temples, putting a pot onto boil. He was going to make tea, and try to calm down. Michael was fine, physically atleast. He was strong, and he would be strong for Brian. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been strong for Brian.  
  
\------  
 **  
Of Debbie Novotny:**  
  
"Jesus Christ Michael, what happened?" Debbie had come down to the hospital as soon as she had heard Emmett;s message on the answering machine; the one telling her not to come.   
  
"God, Ma, I told you not to come." Michael sighed, his shoulders falling a little. Debbie wrapped him up in a tight hug. She understood how he felt about Brian.   
  
Debbie pushed Michael away from her, her eyes filling with tears. She smacked him lightly on the cheek and pulled him back into a hug. "Since when do I take orders from you, except for at the diner?" She was dead right, and smiled through her watery eyes. She hoped Brian would pull through this, for Michael sake as well as his own. "Jesus fucking Christ." She said a little louder than Michael would have liked. She had spotted Brian's mother scuttling down the hall towards them, her face a mixture of anxiety and pain. Debbie released Michael from her bear hug and moved to embrace Joan, though she seemed to think the better of it.   
  
Mother's always came through for their kids. Whatever had been between Brian and his mom seemed to vaporate like the flavour in the soup at the diner. Brian was hurt and his mother had come to help him through it. Deb smiled, she'd do the same for Michael no matter what happened between them. She would always be there to catch him when he fell.   
  
"How is he?" Joan asked, her voice sounding restricted and hoarse. Her eyes were puffy, like she'd been crying.   
  
Debbie patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. "We haven't heard, but he's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, excuse my french. I'm sure he'll be okay and out tricking in no time." Deb regretting the last comment, because she knew how Brian's mother felt about his sexuality. She figured that the more she joked about it the more comfortable Joan would become. It had taken her a while to accept it too, at first. Even though she known her entire life.  
  
Joan sighed and peered in the small window in the door. She whinced at the sight of her son. His face was black and blue, and Debbie didn't doubt that he'd be one pissed off fag once he awoke. She hoped, for his sake, that it didn't leave any permanent markings on his face, he would never love himself if he lost his looks. "None of this would have happened if he had turned to God after his cancer." Joan sighed, bemoaning her son's place in hell. Deb's face fell from grateful that Joan had shown up, to angry. There was no reason to bring her religion into this.  
  
"Brian is who he is, and if you can't accept that then I suggest you get out of here. He has an entire family who loves him for who and what he is, and you are welcome to join us, if you can just accept that your son is a fucking fairy, and love him regardless." Debbie took a deep breath when she felt Michael's hand on her arm. She didn't need to look at him to know he wore and embarassed, appologetic look on his face. She often wished Michael would be more assertive.  
  
"Ma." Michael offered in a warning tone of voice. It wasn't a whole hearted warning, because Michael knew she was right.  
  
Joan's eyes welled up, and she dabbed at them with a limp handkerchief. "I don't need you encouraging him, and telling him that his sinful lifestyle is acceptable. It may be to you, but in the Lord's eyes he has fallen into darkness." Joan looked longingly into the room, as if she were hoping that this incident would bring Brian back into the light of God's love and into her life.   
  
"There isn't anything you can do. Brian is gay, and he always will be. Surely you wouldn't wish him back into the closet? I've always said, closets are for brooms." Debbie didn't understand how a mother could wish a life of facade upon her son. Wish that he would never be who he was, and always faking it for the general public. She would never condemn Michael to life of empty smiles and meaningless sex. Not that he hadn't had his fair share of meaningless sex.  
  
Joan simply shook her head, as if Debbie were as crazy as her son. Debbie may not be gay, but she was so close that she figured Joan thought she was going to hell for being a homosexual sympathizer.  
  
Debbie hoped that Mrs. Kinney wasn't still there when Brian woke up. She didn't think he needed to deal with his mother on top of everything else.  
  
Turning to Michael, Debbie smile reassuringly. "He's going to be fine sweetheart. Has anyone called Sunshine?" It suddenly struck Debbie that Justin might not know. He had a right to know. Hell, they'd been engaged at one point. All she'd heard from Mikey was that Brian and Justin had stopped speaking as soon as Justin had left. Debbie didn't know what Justin was playing at, but he was a clever little fairy, as she had faith in him.   
  
Michael rolled his eyes, as if Debbie were riddiculous for even asking. "Of course I called him. He'd on his way. God only knows how fast he can get here." Debbie held her tongue. Michael had called Justin but she'd had to listen to an answering machine message left by Emmett? She'd be having words with Michael about that, later.  
\------  
  
 **Of Justin Taylor:**  
  
Justin didn't answer his cellphone the first time it rang. He knew it was probably Debbie, or his mother calling to make sure he already had a flight ticket to get home. They were both as anxious to see him as he was to see them, but he was having a good conversation with Patrick, catching up about everything that had happened to them over the years. In a way he liked that they'd met before, intimately, because he didn't have to act like someone he wasn't. Patrick already knew him as much as anyone he'd fucked before, so he didn't have to bother getting to know him. He was suprised that Patrick harboured no feelings for him, at least it seemed that way. He knew he'd never be able to forget Brian, not only because he'd taken his virginity, but for other reasons too. Brian was a huge part of his life.  
  
He finally answered, the second time his phone vibrated inside his pocket. He shot Patrick an appologetic look, and pulled his cell out, flipping it open. "Hello?"   
  
"Hiya sweetie. Nice of you to finally answer your phone." Emmett sounded stressed, and Justin frowned a little into the phone, though it was wasted. Phones just didn't convey facial expressions very well.   
  
"Hey Em. What's up?" Justin asked, his words slurred as the room tilted around him. He set his glass of bourbon down on the table. He'd probably had enough to drink, and he wasn't excited about waking up in the morning with the headache that he knew awaited him. Hangovers were so tacky.  
  
Emmett took a deep breath, the kind he always took before he was about to indulge in a particularily juicy gossip session. "Brian's in the hospital. He'd pretty beat up, but don't worry honey, I'm sure he'll be okay, and just as good looking as when you left." He said all in one breath, slightly lilted with his Mississipi accent. Justin's heart stopped beating for a second before resuming, a little faster than normal. He could feel the blood pouding in his ears, like a ragining wind.  
  
"What?" He whispered, the hand holding his phone shook against his ear. Patrick shot him a concered look that plainly read 'What-the-fuck?'  
  
"Hold on, Michael is here." Justin felt like his world had stopped spinning. He wanted to yell at Emmett not to leave, and to tell him what was going on. He heard a rustling as the phone changed hands.  
  
Michael's familiar voice was a relief to Justin. "Justin? Brian's going to be fine." The confidence with which Michael said it reassured Justin. He knew that if Brian wasn't going to be alright, Mikey would be a bigger mess than he. Justin took a deep breath, focusing on the blank canvas that he could see through the door into his room. He usually shut the door when he left, so he couldn't see it from the living room or the kitchen. His mind was scrambling for something normal to think about, so he wouldn't panic.  
  
"What--What the fuck happened?" Justin's voice cracked, revealing the emotion in it. The world around him dissolved and he forgot completely about Patrick, sitting confusedly across the table from him.  
  
Justin heard Michael shake his head, "We don't know yet, Brian is still unconscious. It looks like a gay bashing though Justin." Justin dropped the phone. He closed his eyes to block out to memories of his own bashing that whipped through his mind, but it didn't help. They projected onto the backs of his eyelids, like a slideshow that wouldn't stop. He remembered the blood drenched white scarf, and Brian calling out to warn him. He hadn't been there to warn Brian. If he hadn't come to fucking New York then Brian probably wouldn't have even been out so late, and he would have been there to stop the bashers.  
  
"Justin?" Michael's voice sounded tinny from his cellphone on the floor. He stooped to pick it up, grabbing hold of the counter to steady himself.   
  
"Yeah. Michael, I'm coming home." Mikey didn't try to argue with him. Justin knew that if it had been Michael in new York, he would have been on the first flight home too. There was no stopping either of them when it came to Brian.   
  
Michael sighed, like he was thinking about fighting Justin on this, but then conceded. "I'll call Jennifer." Justin pressed his forehead against the cold counter, he couldn't help but remember all the times he'd been with Brian, and everything the older man had done for him. He couldn't even bear the thought of losing him.  
  
"Don't. Don't call my mom." Justin didn't want to cause a big scene, not when it was Brian who was hurt. "I'll call her once I land. I've got to go though Michael, I'll see you when I get there."   
  
Justin knew that he couldn't get to Pittsburg fast enough, if something drastic were to happen. The thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn't know how he could have ever thought that this was going to work out, him living so far from home.  
  
"Are you okay? You look like a ghost." Justin jerked his head around as his flipped his phone shut. He'd forgotten that Patrick was there.  
  
Justin rubbed his face, it was starting to become a habit. "I'll be fine. My boyfriend--" He stopped. He didn't know if Brian was even his boyfriend anymore. "My friend is in the hospital. He got beaten up." Justin stared at his hands; they were shaking. "I've got to go."  
  
Patrick was up before Justin could even blink. "Grab your coat. I'll take you to the airport." Justin simply nodded his thanks. He couldn't stop thinking about all the what ifs...  
  
What if Brian didn't make it?  
What if he never got to say good-bye?  
  
\------  
  



	4. Of Aquaintances

  
Author's notes:

Sorry this took so long for me to get up!  
The next chapter is coming soon, because I can't wait for the next Justin/Brian scene!

I was seriously tempted to give Brian Amnesia, but I figured that was oh-so-cliche, so I refrained.

 

Enjoy! 

* * *

_'...you stay right between_  
the lines of fear and blame,  
you begin to wonder  
why you came. '

**Of Justin Taylor:**

Justin had a horrible headache.  The kind that swelled and pulsed inside of your brain, bringing spots of black into your vision and threatening to drag you into unconsciousness.  He could hear his heart throbbing through his entire body,  pounding and echoing in his ears.  His blood was racing through his veins, filling his mind with the sounds of a raging wind.  The flight had been the longest forty minutes of his entire life.  He regretted how he'd treated Patrick,  but he wasn't in any shape to try and be appreciative.   Patrick had given up on small talk after only a few moments of stoney silence.  Justin couldn't even hear Patrick'sreassuring words over the thunder of his own heartbeat.

He threw a few bills into the front seat of the cab and lunged out of the vehicle.  He didn't even know if he'd given the driver too much, or not enough, but he didn't care.  He wasn't Brian, and he wasn't going to avoid seeing him just because there wasn't anything he could do.  He could care, and he could be there to show Brian he cared.  If that was all he could do, then he would give himself over completely to accomplishing it.  His mind was so turmultuous with hopes and fears that he needed a secretary for his thoughts.  Justin had no way of finding the words to express how he was feeling.  He had never been so let down by the english language, and it's limitations.  Terrified,  panicked, and overwhelmed didn't even begin to cover the infinite feeling that was threatening to consume him.  He felt as if no time, and all of the time in the world were passing.

Doubling over the front desk, Justin took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He leaned over the counter, looking desperately at the receptionist.  His mouth wasn't cooperating with his brain.  He couldn't find the words to ask where Brian was.  He struggled and stumbled over his own tongue like an infant with a limited vocabulary.  "D'you...Brain Kinney?"  He asked,  one hand pressed against his chest, like he was afraid his heart would stop.  He was panicking, and he felt faint.

"Justin?"  Justin spun around, ignoring the confused look the nurse was blinking in his direction.  Michael held a cup of coffee in one hand.  He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch, like he couldn't believe Justin had arrived so quickly.  Justin rushed over to him, grasping his upper arm loosely in his hand.

Justin met Michael's eyes, his own swam with concern and fright. "Michael.  How is he?  Is he going to be okay?"  He had never felt such an overwhelming desire to hit something, beat something.  He wanted to find whoever put Brian in the hospital and fucking kill them.  Ever the drama queen,  Justin was imagining the worst.  He hadn't even seen Brian yet, and he was sure that he'd be horribly mutilated, and broken.  Justin felt a tug on his heart;  he'd love Brian all the same.

Michael handed his coffee to Justin,  and Justin felt him take in Justin's appearance.  Justin knew he must look frightful.  He was still drunk, he hand't showered, and he was exhausted to the point of passing out.  "He's going to live.  His collarbone is broken again, where it was still weak from the Liberty Ride.  His nose was broken, but they've set it. He's got a concussion, and his face is all...Jesus."  Michael drew a ragged breath and pulled Justin close to him.  Justin and Michael had never been close,  but at this moment Justin felt liek no one on earth understood how he felt better than Michael.

Relief washed over Justin, relieving him of an enormous weight.  Brian was going to live.  "I know, Michael."  Justin hugged Michael tightly, and the two of them just stood there in the lobby,  hugging as if their fears would vanish with their embrace.  No two people had ever cared about anyone as much as they cared for Brian in that endless moment.  Justin felt his eyes fill as Michael shook against him.  It seemed as if everything they'd both been delaying came crashing down around them.  Justin's shoulders shook with the intensity of his tears, and he could feel his shirt growing damp where Michael's own tears gained purchase.

Justin pulled away, his vision blurred from both tears and exhaustion.  "I need to see him."  Michael looked for a second like he was going to protest, but his shoulder fell in concession, and he led Justin to the elevator.  Justin had to take a moment before he dared to glance in the thin window of Brian's room.  He needed to gather his courage.  With his face set he peeked in, expecting the worst.  Brian's nose and his left cheek were swollen so that one of his beautiful amber coloured eyes was swollen shut.  Justin couldn't help feel pained at the sight of his dark eyelashes contrasting to sharply with the bloodless palor of his swollen flesh.  The parts of Brian's face that weren't a deathly white were stained with blood, and awash with deep purples and rotten yellows.  Justin had never resented a colour so much as seeing those bruised,  rancid colours decorating Brian's face. 

Stepping away from the door, Justin sank into a chair in the hallway.  He covered his eyes; he wanted to sleep. He didn't want to accept that the battered, lifeless looking body in the room was Brian, but he thanked god for the steady beep of his heart.  The annoying, regular sound of his electronic pulse was all the kept Justin together. 

Words and people blurred together like one mass of colour and sounds.  Debbie, Michael, Emmett, and even Brian's mother offered their condolences.  Justin wanted to scream at them.  Brian wasn't dead, and he couldn't help but feel as if they were treating him like he'd just lost something.  Brian was the one who was beaten up and left for dead.  Brian was the one who'd been brutally attacked and was probably in intense amounts of pain.  Why was everyone acting as if he were injured? 

Justin fumed silently, accepting their reassurances, and their appologies for something that none of them did.  He hadn't seen Brian's mother since the uncomfortable incident in the Loft.  He wished that he could have met her under different circumstances,  but his mind was too hinged up Brian to really bemoan the loss of his chance at a second impression.

\------  
 **  
Of Joan Kinney:**

Joan stared dejectedly into her tea.  The steam had long since stop curling form the surface, and the cup was cold against her fingers.  She spun her wedding ring around her finger; to an outsider it might look like she was lovingly fiddling with her dead husbands wedding band,  but she was actually  resenting the amount of her life that she'd spent, trapped by the thin gold ring around her fourth finger.  Her mind was filled with fear for her son.  She didn't want him to pass on before he had a chance to turn back to God.  If he died now he would die lost in darkness, and he would be condemned to hell.  Her heart felt like it was beating in her throat.   She was filled with hope that this incident would light the path of righteousness for her son so he could find his way. 

She blamed Jack to some extent.  The anger he inflicted on Brian for his entire childhood probably made him feel unloved.  Joan figured that Brian had been pushed into some sort of act of rebellion.  Like he had to prove that he could find love elsewhere.  She prayed for him every night,  hopeing God would find it in his heart to forgive her wayward son.  She knew it was partially her fault that her son had turned to a life of sin.  She  had been too honest with him about his father, and about life.  A salty tear dropped into her tea and she sighed, her body shuddering slightly.  Brian deserved what he got,  it was a punishment for leading a sinful life.   She figured that Brian was doing this to prove that he was better than her, and that he could find a man to love him.  He was condemning himself to sin just so that he could spite her by having a more loving man.

Her hands were shaking as she placed her mug on the small lamp table beside her chair.  The air in the hospital was so crisp and clean that it was burning her lungs.  She wished that she had some wine, or some scotch to calm her nerves.  She needed to get some rest, seeing Brian all bruised and beated had exhausted her.  She'd been reminded of all the times she's worn sunglasses to his her blackened eyes, and cardigans in the summer to hide her bruised arms.   Maybe her son would finally understand everything she had endured to protect him from his father. 

Brian's best friend Michael, Joan remembered him from Brian's school years, he was there, supporting Brian,  and Joan couldn't help but wonder if he was to blame for Brian's affliction of homosexuality.  Maybe she shouldn't have let Brian spend so much time over at that boy's house.  Maybe some of his homosexuality had rubbed off on her son.  She couldn't believe how Michael's mother had treated her; Debbie didn't understand everything that she had sacrificed for her son.  She had practically served her life to her children on a silver platter, and all she got in return was ingratitude, and the weight of a gay son on her conscience.  She felt like Brian's disease was her failure to God.

 A frown creased Joan's stress wrinkled face as Debbie's tackily tall heels clicked their way down the hall towards her.  She clasped her hands in her lap,  praying that Debbie would walk right past her.  She had never been so verbally humiliated in such a public place.  How dare that condemned, flamboyant,  homosexual fraternizer accuse her of being a bad mother?  Debbie was as bad as Brian,  never caring about her side of the story, but perfectly happy to peg her as stone cold.  They were both just like Jack.

Debbie took a seat next to Joan,  the smell of her cheap perfume engulfing Joan.  Joan smoothed her plain green skirt over her thighs.  "I'm sorry Mrs. Kinney, about what I said.  I had no right.  I know this all must be hard for you.  I went through the same thing twenty odd years ago."  Joan doubted that Debbie had ever gone through what she was going through now.  But she let the vivacious  red head  offer her meaningless sympathy.

Joan stared down the hall, watching people bustle about; she ignored Debbie's words,  she didn't care what that woman thought.  Joan spotted a man limping down the hall behind a nurse, he held his tailbone,  a grimace creased his brow from pain.  Joan's eyes slid over him to a pregnant woman holding a suitcase.  She obviously wasn't in labour, but she looked worried, and Joan couldn't help but wonder what had brought her to the hospital as such an ungodly hour.  Something tickled in the back of Joan's mind, as if she recognized the limping man.  She drew her eyes back to his pained features,  the steady smach of Debbie's gum giving away that she had finished speaking. 

Squinting at the man, realisation dawned on her.  He was the face of Proposition 14.  He was a man of God, who'd  been touring around Pennsylvania spreading the truth of Prop 14.  It hurt Joan to see him limping down the hall, after everything he'd done for the world.  He was all about God loving love, and not stopping homosexuality with violence, but pushing the homos back into God's love and favour.  Joan watched all of his presentations on television,  not only was he smoulderingly good looking, but he had his priorities in order.  He was trying to help the people that had fallen into darkness.  Joan only wished she had been blessed with such a man as her son.  But she knew that Brian's condition was just another test of her faith in God.

She wondered briefly why he was in Pittsburg of all places,  but then she remembered that he had a presentation at some theatre in town.  She already had bought a ticket to go and see him spread  the word of the Lord.

Joan turned to face Debbie,  eager to spread her celebrity sighting.  She opened her mouth to speak right as a nurse exited Brian's room.  "He's waking up."  Joan stood,  putting a hand on Debbie' shoulder to stop her from rising. 

"I want to speak to my son."  She said firmly,  her hand still shaking.  Debbie raised a single eyebrow and popped her gum.  She offered Joan a nod, as if she needed Debbie's permission to see her own son. 

Joan entered the room tentatively.  She could feel the tension already.  She wanted to catch Brian while he was still groggy so she could plant the seed of God in his mind while it wasn't protected by his sin and sarcasm.  She needed  to help her son see the truth behind this beating. That it was a sign form God that he had strayed too long from the Lord.  She watched his eyes flutter open, atleast the one that could open at all.  Joan opened her mouth to tell Brian she was sorry about what happened, but that it was God's actions, but he beat her to it.

His voice was raspy and dry: "Mom."  He said matter-of-factly,  heaving a shaky sigh.  He turned and looked away from her.  "This must be Hell." 

\------  
 **  
Of Michael Novotny:**

With shakey fingers Michael pressed his palm against his forehead.  He definetly had a fever, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and pass out.  He didn't think Brian would be waking up any time soon, which would explain why he was sitting in the cafeteria pouring over the last edition of Rage.  He couldn't wait for the next issue.  He was so excited for Justin to finish, or rather: start, drawing the next issue.  It was the next thing on his mind, after Brian.

He wouldn't mind the extra cash that Rage brought in,  it was become extremely popular.  He knew Justin needed the money as well,  despite his worries that he would become known as a comoc-book illistrator, as opposed to a serious artist.  Michael worried about how Justin was doing in New York,  if only because Justin's lack of happiness would hurt Brian.  Don't get him wrong,  Mikey did care about Justin,  he just never imagined that he would.  They would never be the best of friends,  but Michale had finally accepted Justin as one of the group.  They had a long history together, and what with Rage,  they would probably know eachother for a very long time. 

Stifling a yawn,  Michael's shoulders sagged in defeat.  He wasn't going to beat this flu he was developping by staying up countless hours into the night waiting for Brian to wake up when he was so heavily drugged up he was probably going to sleep until his bruises dissapeared.  Mikey pulled out his cellphone and quickly sent a text message to Justin.  He was going home to Ben and a warm bed.  He needed sleep before he came down with something the dissabled him from working.  He didn't trust anyone else to file his new shipments with as much love as he did.  Michael turned off his phone and strode out the door to flag the closest cab.  He wanted to get home before he passed out.

The cab driver had to yell him awake when they arrived,  he'd fallen into a feverish sleep.  He was always nervous about being sick around Ben,  he never knew what would happen if Ben contracted what he had.  He always thought the of the worst case,  it came from being half drag queen and half Italien.   Michael stumbled from the taxi onto the patio,  his head swirling.  He was pretty sure he hadn't felt so ill when he'd left the hospital. 

Michael didn't remember getting upstairs to their bedroom,  but he blinked a few times and his vision came into focus on the ceiling.  Which you'd think would be a good sign, considering the usual circumstances of which he was on his back,  but Ben was no where to be seen.   Michael rolled onto his stomach,  his ears filled with a buzzing.  He hoped he hadn't missed Brian waking up.

"Michael?"  Michael tried to answer, but his words came out in a huffy moan.

"Jesus Michael, you're burning up!"  The alarm in Ben's voice made him want to reassure him that he'd be alright,  but he couldn't find the strength to muster his words.  Ben's cool fingers slipped onto his cheek,  a gently release from the heat the was melting his body.

A damp cloth pressed against his forehead seconds later, and he fell back into a restless sleep.

\------

**Of Brian Kinney:**

Brian's jaw muscles flexed as his anger flared.  Groggy and beaten, he still had his temper. 

The world slid and tilted around him,  and he was vaguely aware that one of his eyes wouldn't open.  He sighed deeply, ignoring his mother.  She no doubt thought he was constructing all sorts of terrible thoughts about her in his head,  but really he was despising the idea of being forced to cruise with only one eye.  Once he found the fucker who did this to him he was going to sue him to within an inch of his life.  He dreaded the idea of having to face a mirror.  It struck him that he may be terribly grotesque looking,  and his stomach fell.  There was no lying to everyone about this one;  there was no way he could cover this up.  Everyone knew he was weak now,  he might as well be dead. 

Watching through one stinging eye,  Brian observed his mother twirling her wedding ring as she stood beside his bed.  Deep down he wanted her to take this opportunity to give him some sign that she loved him; cared about him.  Just a small hint that she harboured some maternal attatchment to him, despite his blatant disregard of her God's view of sexual orientation.  Brian wanted her to take his hand and tell him she loved him.  Mostly so he could rip his hand away and tell her to go fuck herself,  but that would just be him protecting himself.  He always was a master of self preservation.  It seemed like the only people who could break through the barriers of cynical, overwhelming assholeness were Justin and Michael.

'Fuck.'  The word thundered through Brian's head with such resonation that he thought his head would explode.  'Justin.'  Adrenaline rushed through his brain,  bringing a fresh wave of feeling and pain to his entire body.  He suddenly felt completely alert,  his body buzzed as if it were radioactive.  He closed his eyes, letting his head roll back onto the pillow.  He prayed Mikey possessed the intelligence to not call Justin.  The last thing he needed was for them to break their unendurable silence by him being treated like an invalid.  Which he pretty much felt like.  A silly little faggot who can't look after himself.

He didn't want to have to face Justin all beaten and broken and have him see that Brian Kinney isn't invincible; that he is only human. 

"What a nice way to greet your mother.  The mother that's been pacing up and down the hall for hours hoping you'll be alright."  Brian rolled his good eye at his mother and looked at her again,  wishing he possessed the strength to get the fuck up and walk out on her bullshit.  She may have been pacing up and down the fucking hall,  but she wasn't worrying about him.  No, she was probably bitching to God about how she'd been punished with a sinful son.

Brian tried to lift his hand,  he wanted to push his hair out of his eyes.  The muscles quivered, feeling weak and shakey.  He pursed his lips,  dangerously close to have a rageful break down. "Funny, I don't recall trying to greet you nicely.  In any case, now that your golden heart is relieved to see me alive and well, could you kindly fuck off."  He turned his head away from her once again,  staring out the window at the dark sky.  His skin errupted into goosebumps as his mother's warm hand pressed against his forearm.  He blinked, looking down to where they made contact.  He'd forgotten the weathered texture of her palm.  Pinpricks of pain stung the back of his eyes,  threatening to spill over in long overdue tears.  Brian pulled his arm away, though he couldn't move it far.  He whinced as his torso shifted,  a jolt of pain lashing through his body.  He'd forgotten about the ribs.

Joan simply shook her head and let her hand fall to her side.  "You know why God gave you this second chance.  You didn't take his warning after the cancer." Brian despised the tone of voice she used on him.  Like she was being painfully reasonable;  like Brian was a small child she was trying to bargain with. His heterosexuality in exchange for an eternity in heaven.   Unfortunately,  even Heaven wasn't worth muff-diving for the rest of his life.

"God gave me another chance because he just loves hearing from you.  And what better to pray about than your sinful son."  Brian shot her reasonable tone of voice right back in her face.  He relished the look of offense on her face;  he lived for it.  Joan didn't even respond,  she pursed her lips and turned on her heel.  Brian watched her back as she left the room,  felling a small pang of guilt.  He shook it off, reminding himself that his mother was a stone cold, alcoholic bitch. 

Brian was alone for a grand total of thirty seconds before the door swung open again.  Expecting his mother had returned to haunt him once more,  Brian raised one eyebrow in an irritated manner, and turned to face the door.  His face fell when he saw who it was.  The nurse stepped through the doors, a familiar grin on his face that Brian couldn't help but reciprocate. 

"Well, Brian.  I never thought I'd see the day when you were in this position."

Brian let out a small huff of laughter,  regretting it for the pain. "There aren't many positions I can't accomplish Miguel."  



	5. Of Exposure

  
Author's notes:

Sorry this chapter isn't so long, I just wanted to get the ball rolling more than anything.

I got a little eager with posting, so I just did Brian and Justin's POV, I do hope that's alright. I will catch up with everyone else in the next chapter, I just couldn't wait to post this much. I honestly haven't forgotten about Ben and Michael, or Mel and Linds.  


Once again, sorry it's not as long as the others.  


* * *

  
  
_''The journey's long_  
And it feels so bad,  
I'm thinking back to the last day we had."  
  
 **Of Justin Taylor:**  
  
Justin felt infinitely better, as if the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. He'd heard the nurse tell Mrs. Kinney that Brian was awake, and it took everything in his being not to race for the door. He respected that she was Brian's mother, but there was no way she cared for him like Justin did. It was Justin's personal opinion that she had no right being the first to see him. Unfortunately, his opinion held no sway, so he went down the hall to get some pepsi from the vending machine. His mouth was dry, and his hands were shaking slightly. He didn't know what to say, for once. He hadn't spoken to Brian for a few months, it was the longest they'd gone without speaking since they'd met that night on the corner of Liberty Ave. Justin had never really had a problem with words; he expressed himself to the point of nauseum. It was a common attribute in artists. But now he found himself at a loss of them, like a knot had formed in his throat.  
  
Thoughts raced through his mind, and it didn't help. He had nothing and everything to say all at once. He wanted to remind Brian that he loved him, and he would go on loving him no matter what. He wanted to take back all of the months that had been filled with silence between them. He wanted to scream at Brian for scaring him, and for acting like a fucking child clinging to it's favourite toy. Justin was angry, and upset that Brian couldn't or wouldn't leave Liberty Ave behind and grow the fuck up. Raking his fingers through his hair Justin pushed his bangs out of his face. He was sweating; his palms clammy, strings of fine blond hair stuck to his forehead. He hadn't felt nervous around Brian since the night they'd met.   
  
Popping his can open, Justin took a long sip of the bubbly liquid. It settled his stomach, thought he longer for something stronger. He suspected that everyone waiting in the hallway at the Hospital was longing for something straight up to down hard. Pressing his fingers against his closed eyes, Justin took a deep breath and headed back to his chair. He was half way into his seat when he saw Joan leave the room. He hovered undecidedly over his seat, his stomach fluttering nervously. Finally he rose, and headed towards the door, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. He had spent three months hopeing to see Brian, praying he wouldn't be forgotten, and dreaming that he'd hear Brian's voice when he answered the phone, and now when it came down to it, he wasn't sure what to say, or what to do. He hadn't exactly imagined it would be under these circumstances.  
  
Before Justin could reach the door, a tall, strictly heterosexual looking man in a pale green nurse's uniform ducked through the door, looking amusedly at his clipboard. Justinr ecognized him instantly. He was one of the nurses Justin had seen on a regular basis when he'd been in the hospital after the prom. Miguel. If Justin remembered correctly, he was a good-natured guy with a good sense of humour, atleast for a breeder. Justin found it strangely ironic that Brian was going to be under the care of the same nurse he'd been with post-bashing. As he got closer, he could hear their voices. A small frown creased Justin's brow, he didn't understand the familiarity in Brian's voice. They spoke as if they knew eachother already.   
  
Intruiged, Justin stepped a bit closer, straining his ears to hear the words that floated from the recovery room.   
  
"Jesus, it's been what, like five, six years now?" Miguel's faint spanish lilt was still recognizable to Justin after all of the years that had passed. He wasn't sure how they knew eachother, because Miguel was definetly striaght.   
  
"I know I don't look a day older, but do you have to remind me that old age is, infact, looming closer?" Justin almost laughed aloud. It was the first time he'd heard Brian's voice in God knows how long, and it had to, of course, be in the sarcastic drawl the Brian spoke so fluently. Miguel's chuckle rippled, sounding exotic. Justin couldn't help but feel a small pang of jealousy that Miguel was on speaking terms with Brian when he'd been isolated in new York for months.  
  
Justin heard Miguel's footsteps as he made his way around the room. "Your ribs are healing nicely. And your nose doesn't look too bad. This must have hurt like a motherfucker, but I find it hard to feel bad for you. Knowing what you're like I suspect you brought this on yourself by being an insufferable smart ass."  
  
Brian groaned under what Justin could only assume were Miguel's prodding fingers. "You know me," He exhaled sharply, "I can't resist putting an ignorant breeder in his place. It's not like I crumpled like a twat. I knocked him down hard on his ass. I'm surprised he isn't in here bitching about a broken tailbone."   
  
"I don't support hiding in the closet, but you don't have to taunt the homophobics, you know."  
  
Brian scoffed, "I wasn't taunting, simply informing. It's not my fault his fuse is shorter than his cock."  
  
It was Miguel's turn to scoff, "You haven't changed a fucking bit." Justin didn't understand why he was being so informal with Brian; so unproffessional. Brian didn't like to fraternize with heteros, and try as he might Justin couldn't formulate any circumstances that they could possibly have met under.  
  
"One thing has changed since the days of yesteryear, and I don't just mean that I'm in the hospital bed in Justin's place." Miguel made an inquiritive hum, and continued to bustled about the room. Brian cleared his throat, as Justin perked his ears at the mention of his own name. "Not only does he not know I'm here, but we aren't even speaking. He's in New York, trekking towards being the next Warhol."  
  
Justin heard Miguel's footsteps cease. "You should tell him Brian. I only knew him for a short while, but he cared about you alot. And I suspect that if he knew you were here, he'd visit you everyday, and not just while you were sleeping." He said it in an accusing kind of way.  
  
"There wasn't anything I could do." Justin had heard the line so many times that it sounded like a broken record.  
  
Miguel sighed, as if he knew Brian's act all too well. "You could have shown him that you care, instead of always hiding in the hall and peeking in while he was sleeping, like some scared child." It was a harsh comparison, but the epiphany that struck Justin knocked the breath out of him. It added up, how the two of them knew eachother now.  
  
All of the blood in his body rushed to his head, and not in the arroused sense of that description. He didn't even know what to think, but the punding of his blood and heartbeat in his ear drown out the rest of the conversation. He didn't even know how long he'd been frozen outside of the door when Migual strode from the room, stopping abruptly and doing a double take on Justin.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Brian is in for a surprise." Justin couldn't find the words to agree with him.  
  
\------  
  
 **Of Brian Kinney:**  
  
Brian sighed, nestling down into his pillow. He was embarassed that the empty room was bearing witness to his unwashed hair and stress lined face. He wasn't sure where Michael was, but he was glad that he had the room to himself. He was exhausted, and getting irritated with his physical state. He hadn't felt a constant pain like this since he'd last broken his collar bone. At least they had him hopped up on Vicodin, or else he would be insufferably cranky.   
  
He was glad he'd gotten to see Miguel, the guy had helped him through alot of the Justin stuff. He was thankful that he'd kept his nightly visits a secret. The last thing Brian needed was to be exposed as human, not that this particular incident did much to hide it. He didn't want Justin to have that kind of power over him, to know that he wasn't as unaffected as he would have everyone believe. Brian closed his eyes, pulling his lips between his teeth he took a deep breath to calm himself down. He needed to take this one minute at a time, and for now what he needed to do was get some fucking rest. Mikey and Deb would probably be dropping in soon, and he definetly didn't want to appear this haggard. There was no way his mother knew he was in the hospital, and Debbie didn't. She was the ears and eyes of gay Pittsburg, she'd probably known what happened before even he did.  
  
He heard the sounds of footsteps stepping lightly on the linoleum floor. He assumed it was Miguel coming back to sneak one last peek at him. Bruised and broken or not, he was still beautiful, and no man was one hundred percent straight, atleast not in Brian's world. Of course, Miguel could have, quite possibly left behind his little clipboard, or a stethescope, but Brian enjoyed rounding up for excitement purposes.  
  
"You don't have to sneak around, I'm not asleep." Brian drawled boredly, as if Miguel ought to have known better than to assume Brian needed sleep like the rest of humanity.  
  
"Don't you mean I don't have to sneak around, like you did when I was in the hospital?"  
  
Brian's eyes sprung open, and he struggled to gain focus on blurry blond form that loomed in his vision. Apparently Michael hadn't had the good sense not to call in Justin. Brian's heart pounded in his chest, he was suprised it wasn't hurting his ribs it was beating so hard. His face remained blank, his eyesbrows raised in an unimpressed manner. He blinked a few times, trying to steal some time. Justin had obviously overheard him and Miguel talking, it's wouldn't take a super sleuth to figure that much out. Brian raked his exhaustion frazzled mind, trying to remember everything he and Miguel had said, and what Justin may or may not have heard. Brian bit his lips between his teeth, and stared at Justin, waiting for something sarcastic and witty to roll off his tongue. Nothing came.  
  
Thankfully, Justin spared him having to potentially injure himself by thinking. "Do you have any idea what it would have meant to me to know that back then? To know you came to visit, and that you gave a flying fuck? I sat in this fucking hospital for weeks, thinking that you stopped caring about me because I was, to use your word, and invalid. If I dared to think you cared about me at all before." Brian heard the pain in Justin's voice. He was not only an artist with a paintbrush and a canvas; a pencil and a pad, but with words. His internal agony dripped off his every expression and sound. Brian had to close his eyes to keep from meeting Justin's pale blue ones. He didn't want to see what was hidden there.   
  
"You shouldn't have dared. We could have avoided this whole fucking thing if you had taken the hint, and realised that I didn't give a shit about you, or your pathetic little head injury." Brian's lips were parted slightly and his face completely unreadable. He lashed out brutally at Justin, attacking him verbally as if to vent his frustration. He was angry with himself for being weak and landing himself in this position. He was angry at Justin for not calling to let him know that he was safe. He wanted to hurt Justin, and his words were his only weapon. He stared coldly into Justin's eyes as their pale blue depths swam in tears that didn't fall.   
  
Justin's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed sharply, he smiled at Brian through pursed lips. "But you did care, I just never knew. Fuck, you probably didn't even know." He said it quietly, his gaze falling to the floor. "And don't you dare tell me that my bashing was pathetic. It was such a huge part of my life..." He trailed off, as if he realised he was about to being venting off a tangent. Justin cleared his throat, and blinked up at the clock that hung on the wall. Brian doubted Justin could read the clock, his eyes seemed unfocused and were still blurred with tears. "Michael always told me that you loved me, right from the start. I never believed him, but he was right. "  
  
Stifling a forced yawn, Brian turned to the window, shrugging the shoulder on the side opposite his broken collarbone. "Michael doesn't know shit." His tone was flat and serious, though the corner of his mouth twitch almost invisibly. Michael knew much more about Brian that Brian knew about himself. Somehow he hadn't pictured his first conversation with Justin after their silence to include the word obscenities and cursing, such as 'fuck'. Maybe the verb, but not the emphatically angry curse.   
  
Justin's sigh filled the room and left Brian feeling hollow. "Alright Brian. You can lie there and act like you don't have emotions like the rest of us mere mortals, but the fact that you ARE lying there, proves otherwise."  
  
Clenching his jaw, Brian turned his head on the pillow so he was facing Justin. The boy was being infuriatingly reasonable. "How was your flight dear?" He offered Justin a sarcastically cheery smile, before letting his face melt back into the uncomfortably pained expression it bore naturally. Mind you, who wouldn't wear an agonized expression after being beaten and left for dead, then accused of having a heart by their ex-lover. Or lover.   
  
Brian wasn't exactly sure what to expect from Justin.  



	6. Of Confusion.

  
Author's notes:

I know I keep saying I'll update, then I never do, but I'm serious when I say that I will update sooner than last time.

Three people I work with just quit, so I've been pulling double shifts and being horrible abused by my nasty boss. Whatever, it's just an excuse. Do forgive me, and do enjoy! 

* * *

  
_  
_

 

 

 

_'I've been hiding all my hopes and dreams away,_ _  
_Just in case I ever need them again someday..._  
_I've been watching, but the stars refuse to shine.'__  
  
**Of Lindsay Peterson:**  
  
Lindsay pushed a lock of thick blond hair behind her shoulder, not even noticing that it fell back into the exact same position only seconds later. Her denim overalls were spotted with burnt red paint, it was caked under her nails and stuck in her hair in giant gobs. She stepped back, admiring her handiwork. It was no masterpiece, but the walls of their living room and entrance were now a rustic red color, with crisp white baseboards and ceilings. It gave the room a modern, homey feel, and Lindsay was proud of her color scheme choices. She was starting to feel content already.  
  
Of course her heart ached when she thought of all the memories and friendships they'd left behind. There was so much love for her back in Pittsburg, and up here she knew no one, and hadn't even landed a job yet. Melanie had, of course, been selected at a local law firm, but Lindsay was stuck at home, with Gus and JR. Not that she minded her children, but it was a social step down from organizing a Sam Auerbach presentation. Lindsay just felt so cut off from the world. She knew better than to remember only the good things about home. As well as all the love she'd been surrounded with, there was also alot of hate. Enough hate to force her from her friends; her family and north into Canada.   
  
She plopped her paint roller back onto it's tray, and swung around to take in the rich colour of the walls that surrounded her. She didn't regret their choice to leave; whatever it took to protect her children. She just wished it hadn't had to be this way. She wanted Gus and JR to grow up knowing their fathers, being close to their fathers and friends. She wanted to be surrounded by her friends and family at her and Melanie's legal wedding, but all she had was a picture album filled with happiness and hope from their commitment ceremony. A honeymoon, and a reception were so far out of probability that Lindsay had pushed such dreams from her mind. She had yet to make a friend in Canada.  
  
Giving her head a small shake to clear it, Lindsay stubbornly pushed all her doubts and pain about their new life to the back of her mind and simply admired her paint job. It was a surprise what a fresh coat of paint and a well chosen colour could do for a room.  
  
"I have been stuck between feuding divorcees all day." Melanie exhaled exhaustedly from behind her, kicking the door shut with her foot. Lindsay's face lit up, as her eyes traveled up Melanie's body, coming to rest on her face. Stress lined her brow, but her eyes glowed with relief. "I am so thankful that we got the opportunity to remember how much we loved each other." Lindsay's eyes shone as she accepted a grocery bag that Mel had held out in her direction. She led the way into the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder, happy that Mel was home. Sometimes she got lonely in the house alone.  
  
"Gus was exhausted, he passed out before six thirty. Kindergarten really takes it out of him. He loves it though." Lindsay began unloading the groceries onto the counter, sorting it into items for the cupboards and items for the fridge and freezer. "Look at what he made us today!" Lindsay exclaimed, just remembering the drawing Gus had brought home. She'd stuck it to the fridge with a magnet that read: _Drag is when a man wears everything a lesbian wont._ "Isn't it precious?" She scooted around Melanie so she could look at Gus' colourful crayon drawing over Mel's shoulder.  
  
"JR asleep too?" Mel asked, meeting Lindsay's eyes over her shoulder. A small smile touched the corner of Lindsay's lips, and she couldn't help herself. Her heart felt so full of hope and dreams for their new hope, and so full of sadness and loss for their old one. She ducked her head forward and met Melanie's lips with her own, she smelled faintly like cigarette's, but Lindsay didn't say anything. She just relished the comfort of Mel's soft lips against her own.  
  
"For now." She responded cheekily, motioning to Gus' drawing once more. "Take a look."  
  
Lindsay wrapped her arms around Melanie, burying her head in Mel's dark hair. She didn't mind the smokey smell that clung to it, she did mind that Mel was smoking again. It was the fourth day she'd come home smelling of cigarettes, and while Lindsay didn't mind the occasional lapse in being nicotine free, it was getting regular.   
  
She didn't need to look at the drawing, she had the hasty, crooked lines all imprinted in her mind. It was a puerile and raw looking, the drawing of any five year old. A drawing of his family he'd done on the first day of Kindergarten. They all stood in a line, their hands linked by long, thin, and far too many fingers. Lindsay didn't recognize the first blob, but she assumed it was JR. She did, however, recognize Brian, sporting a red tie around his neck, Justin, Debbie, Mel, herself, himself and Michael. She never had thought of herself as so unusual earlier in life, but now she couldn't imagine her family any smaller.   
  
She could feel Melanie's muscles slowly relax, her entire body radiating contentness; ever since they'd moved she'd been more relieved and relax than Linds had seen her in months.   
  
"Our son may turn into a fag yet. He color coordinated everyone's outfits." Melanie commented dryly. Linds laughed lightly, her eyes sparkling. She'd love Gus no matter what. "Anyone call for me?" Linds pushed the play button on the answering machine as Mel pulled open a bag of crackers.   
  
' _Hi, you've reached Mel, Linds, Gus and JR. We're out right now, but if you leave one we'll get back to you._ ' Lindsay munched on a cracker, leaning against the counter. She was thankful the kids were still asleep, she needed a good nights rest so she could go apply to the local art galleries, and schools.   
  
Lindsay caught Melanie's eyes roll as the fourth message from Michael sounded off with a beep. He couldn't help himself, he loved his daughter and worried like any father would. Linds had yet to get a message, or even a phone call from Brian, but she knew more than to expect one. She didn't need to hear his voice to know he loved her and missed her, and Gus. Probably even Melanie and JR, somewhere under his layers of self-preservation.  
  
"Hey everyone! I miss you guys alot." Lindsay recognized Justin's voice instantly, though she thought it sounded a little strained. She had heard that things weren't going as well she had hoped for him in New York, and felt kind of responsible. She'd been the one who'd shown Brian the article, and coaxed him into letting Justin go. "I hate to have to do this in a message, but no one picked up. Something's happened with Brian, he's been hurt. He hasn't woken up yet, but the Doctors say he should be fine. We don't know who did it- " His voice cracked, and she heard him draw a slightly ragged breath, "Christ, he looks bad Linds." Lindsay's heart stopped beating briefly and she simply stared at the red number that blinked at her from her answering machine. Her hand was frozen, holding a partially eaten cracker, halfway to her lips. "We don't -- He's alive -- his face Lindsay, his face is all purple and black. Jesus." Lindsay's heart hurt for Justin, his voice sounded so afraid and he had really lost his composure near the end there. She felt her own eyes filling with tears just imagining Justin sitting in the cold hospital, terrified for Brian. She knew how much Justin loved him; really loved him.  
  
One of Melanie's hands was covering her mouth when Lindsay finally looked up from the floor. "I am thankful we are here, together, and safe." She whispered, as if in shock herself. Lindsay wiped at her eye, still unable to speak. She couldn't imagine the invincible Brian Kinney being bashed. As far as Lindsay was concerned he had no weaknesses.   
  
"I am too, but Mel-" Lindsay held Melanie's gaze, and her expression and the way she shook her head let Lindsay know that Mel already knew what she was going to say. "Mel, I have to go. I have to be there for him."  
  
Melanie exhaled sharply, placing her box of crackers back down on the table heavily. "No way Linds. You've got to be kidding. We've been out here less that six months, and you are going to go running home to Brian the second something goes wrong? That may be cute when Michael does it, but you've got children and a loving family. You can't drop our family because Brian is hurt. They will call if something changes."   
  
Lindsay swallowed, wishing she agreed with Melanie. "I'm not abandoning you, I will come home. And I'm not leaving my entire family behind. Gus is coming with me." She cleared her throat, unable to meet Melanie's betrayed expression. "I don't want to talk about this, it is something I have to do."  
  
Lindsay turned away from Melanie, putting the groceries away once again. She heard Mel exit from the room with heavy footsteps. "Once again, you're putting Brian above this family." Lindsay closed her eyes, not bothering to respond to Mel's harsh words. As her lids joined, a few tears were forced down her pale cheeks.  
  
\------  
  
**Of Theodore Schmidt:**  
  
Ted dumped his suit jacket onto the back of the black leather couch that sat, facing away from the door. The house was warm, and still smelled of dinner despite the time. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Ted let out a deep sigh and unbuttoned the top of his navy dress shirt. He knew he ought to be worried about Brian, but he knew that Kinney was too fucking stubborn to die. So instead he was worried about all the pitches and meetings he was going to have to cover, not to mention his own financial work. He knew that Cynthia would be helping out as much as he was; Brian paid them well enough for them to cover his ass while he recovered.  
  
Loosening his tie, Ted pulled the fridge door open, searching for the source of the smell. He loved Blake's cooking, and was ravenous. He refused to allow himself to consume anything at the hospital. Like the doctor's said, lipo is not an excuse to binge eat. Pulling out a Tupperware container of broiled chicken breast, Ted took a few mouthfuls before reigning in his hunger, and letting his self control rule him. He liked looking good for Blake.  
  
Ted raked his fingers through his thinning hair a few times, not bothering with a mirror. He knew he needed hairplugs, and only Blake's constant reassuring that he was sexy stopped him from more surgery. It was as addictive as he'd been warned. It was a hell of alot healthier than crystal though. That's what he loved about Blake, in any case. They'd both been down that dark road, and both survived. There was nothing like a lover that understood you to the core. Speaking of his lover, he didn't want to wake him up; it was almost light outside. 

Tiptoeing to the bedroom, Ted winced slightly as he pushed the door open and it creaked. Pulling off his pants, he crawled into the bed beside Blake, curling his body to fit Blake's form. He loved the smell of his body in the bed next to him. It almost made up for the fact that the sheets were freezing on his half of the bed. Looping one arm over Blake's waist, Ted rubbing his socked feet together, trying to gain some warmth. He felt Blake stir beneath his arms. 

"Hey you." Blake mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Ted kissed the back of his neck, unable to help himself. He was so lucky to have someone waiting in bed for him when he got home. He'd waited his whole life for the special someone, and he never knew it would end up being Blake, of all people. A smile tugged at the corners of Ted's lips. 

The sleepiness vanished from him like water off the hot pavement. "Sorry if I woke you." He didn't mean a word of it. Blake turned in his arms to face him, tilting his head up on the pillow so he could meet Ted's eyes. 

"I honestly don't mind." Ted ran his hand up Blake's back, and pressed his lips against Blake's, he still tasted faintly of toothpaste and something Ted couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a familiar taste, but Ted had other things in mind as his hands traveled down south on Blake's body.. Yes, he was certainly happy to have a warm body to come home to. A warm body that loved him, and that he loved in return.

\------

**Of Justin Taylor:**

  
Of Justin Taylor:  
  
Justin had offered to go to the loft and get Brian a change of clothes; the doctors had set his collarbone, and bandaged his ribs. His nose was still slightly swollen, but Justin found him irresistibly attractive despite the slightly roman looking bump. Brian was allowed to head home the next morning. Justin was shocked by the rejection his offered has received. Brian had pretty much shut him down like he'd offered to give him HIV instead of get him clothing.   
  
He sat in the corner of the hospital room, watching Brian's chest rise and fall shallowly as he slept. He wasn't sure what Brian didn't want him to see at the loft, but he couldn't help but feel like it was something bad. He wondered if Brian had moved on in the short months that they hadn't spoken. Or if he'd destroyed all evidence of Justin's existence at the loft. He didn't understand why Brian was so offended that he'd offered to help. I mean, Justin knew Brian hated accepting help from anyone, but it seemed a little extreme for Justin's liking. When he'd asked Debbie about it, she'd done nothing but hug him nearly to death and avoid the question.  
  
There was something that nobody was telling him, and he had half a mind to just go to the Loft and discover it for himself. The fact that he didn't have a ride or enough money for a cab was the only thing that stopped him from going to investigate.  
  
It also startled him how much he itched to get his hands on the blank canvas that had taunted him for so long. It was as if being in the same room as his sleeping muse had jump started his creative impulses. He longed to taint the virgin white of the canvas with colour, and he knew that if it were here, he'd have no problem. It irritated him how much Brian influenced his inspiration.  
  
Rubbing his right hand absent mindedly, Justin's eyes trailed over Brian's features. He looked the same as always: beautiful. Justin couldn't help but wonder what went on behind Brian's flawless mask. There seemed to be a constant thunder in his eyes. The kind of anger that took a lifetime to grow, and another lifetime to forget. Justin's froze as Brian's eyes began to flutter open. The bourbon coloured eyes took a moment to focus before they locked onto his own pale blue orbs. "You're still here." Brian stated it like a question. Like he was surprised Justin had stuck around.  
  
"I'm still here." Justin said, his voice feeling alot shakier than it sounded. How was it possible that after so long, Brian still made his heart stop? Brian sighed in a resigned sort of way, fighting a smile. He was obviously remembering Justin's fanboy days, when Brian couldn't have forced him to leave if he'd wanted. After everything they'd been through Justin hoped that Brian wouldn't lock him out again. It had taken him five years for Brian to bring down the walls he kept to tightly guarded, and Justin didn't want to have to break through them again, it was exhausting. "How was your sleep?"  
  
Brian turned to look out the window, ignoring the question. Justin followed Brian's eyes, gazing at the thin rays of sunlight that peeked through the gaps in the curtains. He still wasn't sure what to make of Brian's secret visits to him in the hospital, but he opted to but the thoughts on the back burner until Brian got out of the hospital, and Justin had time to confront him about it. "I didn't think you were coming back." Justin's eyes snapped back to Brian's face. His expression was as unreadable as ever, and his voice was so quiet that Justin wasn't sure he'd heard him properly. He remained silent, frozen in his seat. One of his legs was going numb from being sat upon, but he didn't dare move. It was probably the closest Brian had ever come to sharing his true feelings. Without Justin facing death, that is. "I thought you'd stay in L.A, but you came home. I thought for sure you'd left for good this time. I figured that you coming back to me twice was idiot's hope." There was a deafening silence for a few eternal seconds before Brian cleared his throat, and turned back to face Justin. It was as if he'd come out of a fucking trance the way he suddenly looked alert, self conscious even. Justin tore his eyes away from Brian's gaze, and started focusedly at the tiled floor.   
  
"I..." He started to say. He wanted to tell Brian that he couldn't stay away. That he would always come home, but it seemed futile, and pathetic. Brian cut him off before he coulod finish his sentence. Thankfully, because he wasn't sure where he was going with it anyway.  
  
Justin could feel Brian's eyes on his face, scrutinizing. "Where are you staying?" He asked nonchalantly, but Justin knew he actually wanted to know. In truth, Justin hadn't figured that out yet. He'd flown out here in such a haste that he hadn't made any plans. His mother didn't even know he was in town yet. He supposed he could stay at Debbie's, or Michael and Ben's house. He hadn't seen Ben and Hunter in ages.  
  
"Debbie, Horvath, and Emmett might let me crash on their couch for a few days, I guess." Justin shrugged a shoulder, still avoided Brian's eyes. He wasn't sure why he was afraid to meet them, the anger that was harboured in their depths had never frightened him before. When he did, finally, look up, Brian's eyes were closed.  
  
"You're staying with me." The corner of Justin's lips turned up into an insuppressible smile. It was probably going to be the most awkward experience of his life, and he wasn't known for his awkwardness. Despite all the reasons he knew he shouldn't accept it, Justin's stomach fluttered at the idea. He'd be able to discover what the Hell everyone was hiding from him at the loft, and without breaking and entering.


	7. Of Discovery.

  
Author's notes:

I was waiting for this to be validated, and then it just dissapeared. Don't know where it went, but whatever. I think I may not have captured Debbie as well as I could have. Ah, well.  


Enjoy. 

* * *

  
_  
_

 

_"Think about an end you can live with._ _  
_Think about an end I can give you._  
_Think about an end that would satisfy."__  
  
**Of Ben Bruckner:** **  
**  
Ben heard the creak of the bedframe, and was at the doorway in an instant. His face was creased with worry, and his eyes sought comfort from Michael's. Michael had arrived home late last night, technically early this morning, in a state of intense fever. He'd been shuddering with chills for most of the night and Ben could feel him shakily tossing about in his sleep.  
  
"Good morning stud." Ben's voice did nothing to disguise the worry in his eyes. Michael appeared perfectly fine now, and that did a little to ease the tension in his shoulders. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Michael smiled up at him, his eyes looking slightly glassy. His fever had obviously broken, and he was looking infinitely better than he had last night. "I think I've got the flu or something." Michael's voice was raspy, but no longer weak. "Good morning to you too." He added, as an afterthought. A smile broke across Ben's face that could have lit a thousand temples. Being HIV positive, he always assumed the worst, and in this case he was terrified that he'd infected Michael. He didn't think that he'd be able to forgive himself if he made Michael sick.  
  
"Get up, sleepyhead. I made whole wheat pancakes with a sugar-free raspberry topping."   
  
Michael rolled his eyes and stood to follow Ben from the room. As he passed, Ben couldn't resist planting a wet kiss on the side of his forehead. He was grateful that it was nothing serious. Michael paused, lifting Ben's spirits with an innocently lopsided grin. "What was that for?"  
  
A chuckle rippled out of Ben's throat. "You just look so damn cute with bed hair." He ran his fingers through Michael's pillow mussed hair, and then led the way to the kitchen. The house was filled with the smell of breakfast, and the sizzling of the butter in the pan. Ben suspected that Hunter would be bounding down the stairs soon enough, following his nose to more health food.   
  
As if on cue, Hunter stepped into the kitchen. "So, you managed to make it home last night. _Well_ past curfew." Despite his witticisms, he looked as relieved as Ben felt. They were both glad to have Michael back, and more or less in one piece. "Looks like you're grounded, young man." Hunter added, in an amazing impersonation of Debbie's motherly tone of voice. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, staring at Michael with a disapproving look on his face.  
  
"Very funny." Michael rolled his eyes at Hunter's appearance. Ben grinned into the frying pan as he flipped another pancake. He appreciated his family so much that sometimes he thought his chest would burst. The fact that Hunter came home, and was staying home made him love him all the more. It was like the second he set foot inside the door of their home warmth flooded his body. It was so comfortable and loving. He knew he was lucky to have this family.   
  
"Don't look at me, you're the one who made the rules. Really, we should have locked you out. " An impish grin had crossed Hunter's lips, one that Ben was familiar with. Since Hunter had been back he seemed much for at home, and like he was a part of the family. They were just waiting for the adoption papers to be approved, and then he would legally be part of the family. "The door gets locked at midnight, no later. So be here if you want to sleep here." Hunter mimicked Michael this time, an impersonation that dated back to their first few weeks with Hunter. Ben grinned, his eyes twinkling. He couldn't help but laugh out loud.   
  
\------  
  
**Of Debbie Novotny:** **  
**  
Horvath had driven Brian's corvette from the alley outside Woody's to Brian's house. It was something she fucking loved about him; his generosity. The nurses said that he wouldn't be able to drive until the swelling in his eye went down a little, and his collarbone re-healed. He would be out of commission for a few weeks at least. She knew Brian well enough to know that he was fuming internally, despite his indifferent exterior. He would want to kill the man who proved that Brian Kinney was a mere mortal. Not to mention, to quote Darren, the man who had reduced him to jacking off with his left hand.   
  
Debbie was pacing frantically outside Brian's room. She didn't know what Justin was playing at staying in there so long, when she was missing him to death out in the hall. She felt a little guilty not telling Justin about Brian's loft, but she knew that Brian would tell him in due time. It was the kind of thing that Brian had to be given time to confess. It was a huge deal, that he'd kept the country mansion of Justin's dreams and sold the loft. Hell, it was the most significant gesture he'd ever made, short of proposing. Debbie still wished that things had worked out between Brian and Sunshine. As much as she knew Brian was too emotionally young for Justin, she knew even better than they'd never be complete without each other.   
  
With a hand to her chest, Debbie peered in the window. It didn't bother her that spying was an invasion of privacy. When in came to Sunshine, there were more important things than giving him space. From the looks of things inside, Justin had resigned himself to a chair in the corner, and Brian was asleep. She took a deep breath and lowered herself into a chair.   
  
Without even realizing that she'd fallen asleep, Debbie awoke to the sound of the hospital door swinging open. She sprung to her feet faster than a go-go dancer could recover from a tumble on stage. "Sunshine!" she squealed. Justin looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes, and his lids were barely open. "Why don't you come back home with me and Horvath and take a nap? You look like you've been up for a week!" She patted him lightly on the cheek, concern written across her face. She stood on her tiptoes, surprised by how tall Justin had become. Pulling him into a tight hug, she didn't give him time to answer. "Jesus" She pinched Justin in the rib, and he grunted at the sharp pain. "Have you eaten since you've been in Manhattan? You're as skinny as a sensi-thin condom!"  
  
Justin's laughter was one of the best sounds she'd heard in a long time. It, of course, forced her to pull him into another over-bearing hug. "Thanks Deb." His voice was sincere, as always. Debbie loved that about him, that he was generous. She always had called him 'Mother's little helper.' He was like a second son to her. "But Brian offered to let me stay at the Loft with him. And I'm really not hungry." He smiled lopsidedly at her, like he felt guilty or bashful that he was staying with Brian. Debbie sighed relentingly. She should have known.  
  
"The loft?" she asked. Then it occurred to her that Brian still hadn't told Sunshine about the move. She pursed her lips and looked away down the hall. Lucky she did, because she caught sight of a familiar face limping into a hospital room not far off. "That's the bastard from Prop 14!" She exclaimed in an uncomfortably loud tone of voice.   
  
Justin opened and closed him mouth like he was about to say something but thought the better of it. Deb could tell that Justin knew something was up, but he was just biding his time until it revealed itself to him. Patience was so unlike Justin.  
  
"What's he doing in the hospital?" Justin followed her classless change of subject, scanning the hall for the accused. He'd disappeared into the room already.  
  
Debbie shook her head, but she had an unshakeable feeling that something fishy was going on. And not in a lesbianic sense of the word either. "I don't know, but I think I'm going to find out." Justin laughed out loud again, lifting Debbie' spirits.   
  
"Careful Deb. First Jason Kemp and now this? You'll put Horvath out of a job." Debbie had already taken flight down the hallway. She moved much more quickly than any high heel-wearing, short legged plump women should be able.  
  
\-----  
**  
**Of Brian Kinney:****  
  
The prospect of looking into a mirror and seeing his own brutalized face staring back was nauseating. He didn't even try to kick Justin out of his room because he knew it would be a hopeless endeavor. Honestly, if Brian had gone his entire life without Justin ever finding out that he'd been to the hospital every night that he'd been in their charge, he would have died less miserable that he would now. Still, he knew there was no removing the information from little Justin's head, so he had decided to accept it, plus there were worse things.   
  
Of all the things that Brian was pissed off about, and the list was nearly endless, the thing that infuriated him the most was that Miguel had had to help him get dressed. The soft denim of his Gucci jeans against his skin was so much comfortable than the fabric of his hospital gown, and it was all that enabled him to tolerate the assistance with a minimum amount of bitching. Once full clothed the tight bandaging around his ribcage was barely noticeable beneath his dark Armani dress shirt. He didn't bother with a tie. The only evidence of his bashing was his bruised face and the sling in which his arm hung limply.  
  
Brian had called a Driving company and arranged for a car to be waiting outside the main entrance of the Hospital in ten minutes. There was no way he was letting Justin drive him back to the house. Britin. He swallowed hard and did his best not the think about having to reveal to Justin that he'd kept the house, and sold the loft. He hadn't really given much thought to having his feelings for Justin being revealed, because in truth he hadn't expected Justin to ever come home. He figured that he would just continue living in Britin, despising the hollow void that Justin had left behind, and feeling sorry for himself. And now he was going to have to deal with a load of bullshit that probably qualified him for sainthood.  
  
When he reached the automatic door the marked the entrance, Brian felt suddenly more awake than he had in a few days. Lying in the hospital and doing nothing but sleep had made him groggy, but standing here he could almost smell the air outside, fresh as opposed to the lemony clean scent of the hospital air. He also got the chance to peruse Justin thoroughly, and not through half swollen, sleepy eyes. He looked thinner, and exhausted, but Brian could see the glowing beneath his skin that he was so familiar with. It was like there was a fire inside of him that had been rekindled. His internal happiness was shining through whatever New York had done to him. Brian's heart leapt into his throat as Justin looked up from his backpack, and met his eyes. He pulled his lips in between his teeth and offered Justin a completely emotionless nod of the head in acknowledgement.   
  
The ride to the house was uneventful, but Brian didn't mind. Justin passed out against the window and Brian's couldn't stop himself from staring. His eyes trailed around the contours of Justin's sleeping features. He looked innocent, like he hadn't been tainted by the world. Like he'd never been hurt, and never hurt anyone. His blond hair falling gently over his milky cheek, and his pale eyelashes hiding what Brian knew to be the bluest eyes in the world; he looked like a fucking angel.  
  
Brian could see the sunken look that gripped Justin's body with an iron fist. He suspected that Justin hadn't slept in days, and the tension that seemed to be knotted in his shoulders convinced him that Justin probably hadn't painted in about as long. He felt a knot in his throat at the idea of Justin uninspiredly staring at a blank canvas. It was just an image that popped involuntarily into his thoughts, and he had no idea how accurate his imagination was. Justin looked as if he'd lost his soul, and it killed Brian to see him, so beautiful and yet so pained. He was tempted to pay the driver to cart Justin in so he wouldn't have to disturb him. Or let him see the house, but he knew he'd have to face the sentence of his actions eventually. And damned if he was going to let some other man carry Justin when even he couldn't. If his goddamned collarbone hadn't broken again, he'd have happily held Justin's body to his for the short walk to the door.   
  
"Justin." He said, curbing the frustration in his voice. He almost didn't want to wake Justin so he wouldn't have to look as his bruised face any more than he already had. "We're home." He almost gagged as the word left his mouth. Home? Christ, he was turning into a Stepford fag, and he didn't even have a husband. It was a house. It was nothing but a fabulously furnished and renovated collection of fashionable rooms and surfaces upon which to fuck. It wasn't a home; at least that's what Brian insistedly attempted to convince himself.  
  
Justin moaned sleepily, but didn't even crack an eye. Brian gave his upper arm a small shake, careful not to reveal the increase in his heart rate the second his hand made contact with the thin cloth separating their skin. "Come on, honey." He drawled, sarcasm working its way into his words. "It's past your bedtime." The contact startled Justin, and he didn't hide it nearly as well as Brian did. His eyes popped open, and turned immediately to where Brian was touching him. Brian let his hand fall to his side, feeling slightly nervous, which was something he was sure he'd never felt before in his entire life. Justin rubbed his eyes with loosely curled fists and pushed the door open.   
  
Brian didn't even realize he was holding his breath until Justin stepped out of the car onto the wet cement of the driveway. Brian exhaled loudly, and exited the vehicle from the opposite door. He didn't face Justin; he didn't want to see the look on his face. He knew it would make his insides melt, and he didn't want to relinquish that kind of power. Not yet, anyway. He fumbled in his pocket with his good hand, fishing for his keys. He didn't bother paying the driver, the company would just put it on his tab and send him a bill a the end of the month. By then it would probably have double in cost, but it didn't matter to Brian.  
  
He unlocked the door and waited, facing the staircase inside the front door. He didn't make any move to turn around, but he could hear that Justin was still frozen, standing where he'd stepped out of the car. "I've got Thai in the fridge," he said, his hand still on the doorknob. He heard Justin's footsteps behind him, so he stepped through the threshold.   
  
"Brian..." Justin's voice sounded full, like his emotions were spilling over.  
  
Brian held up a hand to stop Justin from finishing his sentence. He didn't want to have this conversation while Justin was passout-fucking tired, and he was fresh out of the hospital. "Let me rephrase that. Come inside and eat. It is fucking cold out there." He said it more harshly than he'd intended. In any case, Justin stopped speaking and stepped inside after Brian.  
  
Once in the kitchen, Brian placed a cardboard container of cold Thai food on the counter before Justin, still avoiding his eyes. "Brian. Why did you keep the house?" Justin's words were quiet, but Brian knew he couldn't pretend not to hear. It was the question he'd been dreading. The truth was he didn't know why he kept the house. He figured he did it because it was a nice house, because he needed something to remember Justin by, because he'd been half hoping Justin would come home and see that he'd kept it. But now that it was happening, he almost wished that he'd sold it and kept the fucking loft so he wouldn't have to answer Justin's questions.  
  
Brian took a bottle of water from the fridge and cracked the seal. "I bought it for us, and fifty percent of us" He gestured to himself with the top of his open bottle, "stayed." His face was as blank as he could possibly make it. He watched Justin shake his head in disbelief. Justin rose to his feet and stepped around the counter so that he was closer to Brian. He couldn't help but long to step to meet Justin, to close the space between then and wrap his arms, correction: _arm_ around him. He wanted to bury his fingers in Justin's hair and inhale the smell of his body. Instead, he swallowed loudly and took a sip of his water, hating himself.  
  
"Jesus." Justin muttered with a half smile, like he was afraid to believe that Brian had actually kept the house. "You missed me alot." Brian's heart skipped a beat. How the fuck was Justin able to reach such an outlandish (but true) conclusion from the simple fact that he'd kept the fucking house?  
  
"Don't flatter yourself."   
  
Justin took another step towards him, and Brian could feel the heat of his body. He took another sip of his water, trying not to smell the familiar scent of Justin's skin. "I missed you too." Justin's tone was the type of thing you'd hear as a response, as if Brian had said that he missed him first. It surprised Brian, but his face didn't change. He looked down at Justin, their faces only inches apart. He had to exert the most self control that anyone had ever been forced to use in order to restrain himself from bending Justin over the counter and fucking him within and inch of his life.   
  
"Just because I moved doesn't mean I don't love you anymore. You practically forced me to go." Brian wasn't moving, and he was barely breathing. He didn't make any sort of acknowledgment of Justin's words, but he heard them. It was the truth, but he'd been convincing himself for months that it was a fabrication in his mind. That Justin hadn't ever _really_ felt that way, and that he'd never forced him to go to New York. It was hard to hear them out loud. He didn't make any moves to flee, and he figured that was all the indication that Justin needed. He continued to speak, "I never stopped loving you for even a second." Brian was pretty convinced that his heart stopped beating the second the words were out of Justin's mouth.

 


	8. Of Reunification

  
Author's notes:

My internet hasn't been working. Every time I plug my LAN cable in my computer freezes, and then starts working when I unplug it. Could someone please explain why that is happening to me? I am currently sitting in the lobby at my work siphoning their wireless internet. Sorry this chapter took so long, please don't hate me.

Enjoy. 

PS: I know I've left the Debbie/Prop 14 guy plot kind of hanging, I just didnt have the time to write her POV into this chapter. Next one, I swear to god. Which reminds me that I've forgotten about Ted too. Atleast B/J are the most important ones. Heh. Next time, promise.  


* * *

  
  
" _Promise you will remember._  
Promises last forever,  
Still after dying embers  
Of a fire that burns so slowly."  
  


**Of Justin Taylor:**  
  
Justin pulled the blanket tighter beneath his chin, stretching his legs down the length of cool sheets that envelopped his body. The bed with as huge as the one had been at the loft, and Justin felt lost among the ocean of blankets. He tossed and turned feverishly, exhaustion weighing down his chest and his eyelids making his body feel heavy. No matter how exhausted he was, he couldn't settle his mind enough to actually get some rest. His thoughts churned about in his mind like a chaotic storm. Brian had loved him from the very beginning; he'd come to the hospital every single night. Justin knew that no guilt in the world would have dragged Brian on his nightly visit, and it must have been a supressed, denied but fiery love. It made his heart swell, filling his entire body with a rhythmic beat so loud he thought he would burst with happiness.   
  
Brian had kept Britin. The action screamed truths at Justin that he had never been able to see before. That maybe, just maybe, Brian's life had been as hung up as his own. Squeezing his eyes tight shut, Justin curled onto his side, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He wanted to curl into the smallest ball he could, as if it would dimish his restless thoughts, the thoughts that wracked his entire body with exhaustion. He wanted to get some sleep so that he would have enough energy to face the things that he'd kept locked away for so long.  
  
It didn't help that every so often the pillows would give off the faintest scent of Brian's cologne. The most infanticimal hint of the smell brought colour to Justin's cheeks, and images to his mind. His pupils contracted to the size of pinholes behind the thin veil of his eyelids, and he swallowed hard. Pulling his knees closed to his chest, Justin pressed his forehead against them. He wished he were in the womb again; life was much easier before he'd figured out he was queer and gotten involved in a distant, emotionally unstable older man. Not to mention been engaged, broken up and moved away. Justin wrinkled his brow as he burrowed deeper into the blankets. He fell into a fitfull, and restless sleep with his dreams haunted by images of Brian's face, and the blank canvas that waited for him in Manhattan.   
  
It hurt Justin to imagine what Brian must have felt like every single day that he was gone. It wasn't vanity that inspired these thoughts, it was reality. Things that Justin never knew about Brian had been slowly revealed over the course of his visit so far, and he was beginning to think that Brian might just love him the way he loved Brian. Justin couldn't fathom the overwhelming feeling of abandon and loneliness that would have hit him hard if he'd been the one coming home to Britin every night alone.   
  
He wasn't sure how Brian had survived.  
  
The creak of the floorboards yanked Justin from his light sleep. He felt briefly disoriented before everything that had happened registered in his brain. His breath hitched, unnoticeably. Their mansion was old, and the settling sounds in made in the gentle breeze were common among enourmous houses like theirs. Reffering to it as partially his still felt strange in Justin's head. He didn't know what he was going to do about this situation. Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to break his contract with his agent, screw his artistic career and come running back to Britin to be with the man he loved. It was as if their time apart had done nothing but amplify all of his feelings for Brian.  
  
Justin didn't roll over to face the door. He slowed his breathing, inhaling and exhaling with what he hoped looked like deep sleeping breaths. The sound of Brian's socked feet padding quietly across the hardwood floor of the bedroom sent goosebumps rippling across Justin's entire body. If he were asleep, he wouldn't have been able to feel the practically electric tension that filled the room in Brian's presence. Justin swallowed, a little too loud for someone who was sleeping. He felt the blanket being pulled down, shifting as one corner was slowly lifted away. The bed shifted as Brian lowered himself in between the sheets, trying not to wake Justin. Even if Justin hadn't been woken by the floorboards, the sensation of being so close to Brian he could easily have reached out to touched hi warm skin would have been enough to rouse him from even the deepest of sleeps. Justin's entire body felt tense with anticipation. He didn't know how far he could go on this little sleep, while he was feeling this overwhelmed. He knew what Brian wanted from him, it was obvious by the fact that Brian had joined him in bed, he just wasn't sure he was emotionally, or physically stable enough to give it to him.  
  
Brian scooted across the distance between them and ever so carefully draped an arm over Justin's waist, pulling him only fractionally closer. The feeling of Brian's warm, solid arm over his side, and Brian's long torso pressed up against the length of his back made Justin feel suddenly, and alarmingly at home. It was as if no time had passed, and nothing had changed and they were back in the loft, (dare he say it) cuddling and falling asleep wrapped up together. Justin settled in against Brian's chest almost instinctively. He let out a soft sigh, and he could feel Brian's breathing faulter momentarily. There were no words exchanged, but Justin felt certain that Brian knew he was awake. He didn't shift positions, or try and put distance between them. He was slightly surprised the Brian was able to just lie there, satisfied to simply sleep side by side.   
  
When Justin fell asleep this time, it was a warm and cozy sleep. The kind you fantasize about having after a long day of work.  
  
\-----

**Of Melanie Marcus:**  
  
Melanie engaged the e-brake of her navy blue SUV and turned off the engine. She was ten minutes early for her first appointment, and for once she didn't hurry up to her office to get a little extra paperwork finished. She sat back in her seat, her eyes staring ahead but not focusing on anything in particular. Her morning had been a blur: kids up, ready for kindergarten and daycare, pack lunches and snacks, shower and brush teeth at the same time, and so on and so forth. Her hair was in dissarray, looking more bull-dykey than it usually did. The lines in her face were deeply creased with worry and stress, and she wasn't sure exactly how she was supposed to be in a meeting with a client and picking Gus up from school at the same time.  
  
Lindsay was gone. She's taken flight to chase after Brian, her unrequited love. Nothing Melanie ever did would ever be enough for Lindsay. Mel was starting to think that they'd been crazy to try and start their own life at all. Of course Brian would never let them go, he'd never let Melanie have Lindsay all to herself. A grimace plastered Melanie's face as the clock ticked closer and closer to her first client. She slammed a hand down on the horn, "Goddamnit!". The anger caught her by surprise. She's been dissapointed, hurt and betrayed, but suddenly she felt anger filling every limb of her body. Heat burned her up as if she were a pig on a spit. She slammed her fist on the horn a few more times, uselessly. Hot tears threatene d to spill down her cheeks. Melanie pressed her forehead against the wheel. She felt alone, and overwhelmed.  
  
How could she possibly trust Lindsay ever again? She couldn't Lindsay had abandoned her the second Brian was in need. Melanie couldn't help but feel as if her life would be plenty easier if Brian would just walk off the face of the planet. Heaving a heavy, shuddering sigh Melanie pushed the car door open, wiping at her eyes. She knew they were red and puffy from her momentary lapse in control. Melanie sought to distract herself from the fact that her wife abandoned their family just because Brian was hurt. Didn't she realise that they had moved the Canada to start a new life, not to go chasing back their old one the second they arrived in the land of snow and beavers?  
  
Flipping open her phone, Mel punched in the numbers for her voicemail as she tugged down the front of her pinstrip button-up vest. Pinching the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she pulled her briefcase out of the car and bumped the door closed with one hip. She scrambled to get her mind together before her meeting; she needed to present a dignified front. Melanie almost dropped her phone and lost it a second time when Lindsay's familiar voice echoed in her ear.   
  
'Mel, it's me. I'm at the airport, and I just wanted to remind you that I love you forever. It's just: Brian needs me now, you know how hard this will be for him. I'll call you when I land and let you know how everyone is. Love and kisses to Gus and JR.' Melanie almost gagged at the last line. She hadn't even left the country and she was already losing the attatchement she felt to her children. Melanie rested a hand on his stomach, feeling nauseous. Love and kisses to Gus and JR? She said it like an afterthought.  
  
Melanie wasn't sure she could deal with this, or forgive this betrayal. Ever.  
  
\------

**Of Brian Kinney:**

Brian's eye fluttered open, and he nearly leapt out of his skin when the first thing he saw was Justin's baby blue eyes staring back at him. Their noses were almost touching, and Brian could feel one of Justin's legs tossed haphazardly over his hip. He hadn't expected Justin to be there, in the flesh, when he awoke. He was fairly certain it had all been a dream. He couldn't supress the smile that had crept into the corners of his eyes. Brian's spirits soared, and he felt a wave of happiness that made him want to laugh. He was the luckiest man alive to be waking up next to Justin. He wished he could wake up next to Justin every day for the rest of his life, so badly it felt like his heart was going to be torn to pieces.  
  
"You're here." He stated it plainly, almost wishing he hadn't said anything at all. He would have been content to just lie there. Justin looked so beautiful in the morning light that filtered through the crack in the blinds. His skin glowed where the beams kissed the contours of his face. Brian was almost rendered breathless, as if he had forgotten how perfect Justin was in the months that had passed since he'd last seen him. His memories did the real thing no justice. His words brought him back to earth, serving as a reminder that there was so much left to talk about. He didn't know how long Justin was going to be home for, but he was sure that he would die when Justin left.  
  
Justin's perfectly shaped lips curved into a small, lopsided smile. "I can't believe I'm really here." His voice was soft and smooth like velvet, and the hair all over Brian's body stood on end. He pulled his lips into his mouth as all of the blood in his body flooded down south. He could hear his own heartbeat raging in his ears, and he could feel his pulse in his dick as it hardened beneath his briefs. Three months without Justin, and the simple sound of his voice in the morning was enough to make Brian want to take him again and again. The sexual tension crackled between them like the air was positively charged. Brian could see the questions swimming around behind Justin's eyes, and there was no way he could concentrate on anything except the feel of Justin's thight on his hip and the short distance between their mouths.   
  
"That's what everyone says when they're in Pittsbu--" Justin cut off Brian partway through his rehearsed insulting of his home town. He leaned forward suddenly, though in no way awkwardly and pressed his lips against Brian's. Brian's eyes were wide, and he kissed Justin back almost tentatively, as if he were afraid Justin would vanish, or he would wake up from this teasing dream. In a matter of seconds, Brian's hand found it's way to the back of Justin's head, knotting his fingers in Justin's silky hair. God, he had missed the feel of Justin's hair between his fingers. He crushed his lips against Justin's, his eyes melting shut. It was like Brian had gone through withdrawl, and now he couldn't drink in enough of Justin's taste. He kissed him hungrily, trying to drown himself in the sweetness of Justin's soft lips. He felt completely whole. Not like the hollowness in his chest had been filled, but like he'd hadn't been empty at all.  
  
Brian didn't stop to think about to repercussions of where this was headed; about how much worse this would be when Justin left him again. He didn't think about how the house would feel exponentially more empty, and void of Justin's voice and his smell now that Brian had allowed the house to be filled once again. It really did feel like a home now, it felt complete with Justin in the bed next to him. Justin pulled Brian's hips against his own with the leg that was draped around him, grinding their cocks together through the thin fabric of their undergarments. Justin moaned against Brian's lips, it was a soft, needy sound and it made Brian feverish with desire. If his goddamn body wasn't so sore he would have been balls deep inside Justin already.   
  
Rolling over so that the length of his torso pinned Justin to the bed, Brian never missed a beat. He couldn't pull his lips against from Justin's, even if he wanted to. His tongue explored Justin's mouth frantically, like he was going through withdrawl and Justin was the drug he craved. The pale body beneath him was all too familiar, and just as thrilling as the first time. No matter how often he'd had Justin there was always more mystery to it, always swells and planes he had yet to discover. Without parting their lips for even a second, Brian pulled Justin's briefs down with one hand, his fingers skimming over every available inch of Justin's freshly exposed body. Brian wasn't sure he could handle this for much longer, he wanted to be inside of Justin so much it hurt. Of course, the pain could have been his broken collarbone, or his cracked ribs, but he chalked it up to longing.  
  
Justin pulled his lips away from Brian's; they were slightly puffy, and pink. His eyes sparkled like a small span of ocean in the sunlight. "I need you." Justin's words were breathless, and ragged, as if any attempt on his behalf to remain collected had vanished and he were raw and exposed. Brian's breath caught in his throat and he paused for only the most unnoticeable of seconds before he kicked off his own underwear onto the floor. It was just the two of then, their bodies no longer hidden from eachother.   
  
Brian locked his amber coloured eyes onto Justin's. "I need you too." Justin's other leg wrapped around Brian's waist, joining the first. He pulled Brian's hips tight against him, so the head of Brian's cock was pressed against the tight pucker that Brian longed to fill. It took every fibre of Brian's being not to just plunde as deep inside Justin as he could. He let out an unflattering kind of croak, like he could feel himself falling apart. "Justin, don't." He leaned across Justin's body, his muscles quivering with restraint. The few seconds it took for him to put the condom on seemed to last forever. The second it snapped tight around the base of his shaft, he leaned forward, supporting himself on his good arm. The arm with the broken callarbone was tucked tight against his chest, making it impossible for Brian to melt into Justin, no matter how much he longed to forget where their bodies ended.   
  
He slammed himself all the way into Justin, watching as Justin's pupils dialated then contracted with the pain. His lips parted slightly, but Brian stole the small moan of pain with his lips, drowning Justin's whimper in a feverish kiss. Brian waited for the muscles that clamped down around him to loosen up, giving him room to pull all the way out, and thrust in deeply, angling his hips to hit Justin's prostate. He wasn't going to last long, not when his whole body sang for just being this close to Justin again. Brian couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy without some sort of chemical involvement.   
  
The rhythm he set was faster, and more rough that it ought to have been. He thrust in and out of Justin so quickly that Justin barely had time to lift his hips to meet Brian's. He wished there was no layer between them, he wanted to feel Justin surrounding him as he came. Just the two of them, with no barrier between them. Brian felt the tingling heat gathering at the base of his cock as he pushed himself deeper, and deeper still into Justin. Brian wanted to lose himself in Justin's body. Justin's cock was caught between them, rubbing against his belly with every thrust. Brian could feel the wetness that was dripping out of it, lubricating their stomach. He thirsted to lick Justin clean, and taste him.   
  
Justin's nails dug welts down the lenght of Brian's back, stinging and throbbing. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in every inch of his body. His teeth found Justin's lowerlip, pulling, and nipping. The groans and whimpers Justin made as he released the lips did nothing but increase Brian's ferocity and speed. There was no way to describe the intense need he felt. Like he wouldn't be able to survive another second without Justin. It terrified him, how accute the feelings he felt were; how desperate.  
  
They both came as the same time, their lips and bodies were as one. The orgasm shuddered through Brian's body as Justin's muscles locked down tight around him. He gasped, part with the sharp pain of Justin's muscle contraction, and partly because of the unbelievably ecstatic high he felt as he came inside the condom. He wished he could feel Justin, feel his come inside Justin's tight ass. Brian rested his forehead against Justin's, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. They were both drenched, exherted to the max. Brian panted, his chest heaving as his heartrate returned slowly to normal. Justin's eyes hadn't lost the millions of questions they longed to ask, but Brian felt certain he wasn't planning on starting any conversation of importance anytime soon.   
  
"That...was...amazing." Justin exhaled the words, blinking slowly. Brian pushed off the bed, pulling away from Justin. Justin's lips pursed, and he locked his legs more tightly around Brian's waist. "Don't go. Just...." He trailed off, biting his lower lip in a self-conscious kind of way that was so unlike him. "Just stay inside me. For just a little longer." Brian could feel the hot come that fiilled the condom around his throbbing cock. He didn't want to leave Justin yet either; he didn't want to face reality just yet.  
  
He lowered himself fractionally, dipping his head down to kiss Justin, just because he couldn't help himself. "Okay." It was all he needed to say. He leaned back down onto his elbow, planting a kiss on the tip of Justin's nose, then another on each of his eyelids. He had missed every single part of Justin, from his eyebrows right down to his toes, and it felt beyond amazing to be able to feel him, and smell him and taste him.   
  
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End file.
